Grimdark
by jade-fae
Summary: NaNoWriMo 2019. After Harry Potter is thrown into hell, Britain falls to the dark. The lights only hope is to bring Harry back. But ten years have had their effect on him. Will he be the savior the light had hoped? Or have they merely traded one devil for another.
1. Chapter 1

Grimdark  
Chapter 01 – Hello, Goodbye

…

It was the worst thing that could happen. He'd been expecting bad as soon as he stepped into that accursed maze; but this, he'd never even considered this. A shame on his limited imagination.

Cedric was dead; this he had considered. It was hard not to in a tournament infamous not for its winners, but its survivors. Death was something he'd given much consideration, not least of which, his own; something that might not be far off.

Strong cords bound him hand and foot to a massive grave marker. The sort of grave marker that would have been ostentatious in its own time, which spoke much to future generations what the person buried beneath it thought of themselves.

Many such markers dotted the grounds as far as he could see. Beneath the stones in the mist covered earth the last remains for generations groaned dissent, much as they'd done in life. Talk of maggots and gossip of the latest worms rolled in endless complaint over the family marked Riddle.

A large cauldron boiled amidst the graves, tended by the sniveling servant of the last son of the otherwise dead family. Into the cauldron he went; a deformed sort of grub, and as in a million other times, mirrors of the moment through innumerable iterations, the ritual began.

Bone of the father, rudely ripped from the earth and cast to the cauldron. Flesh of the servant, a hand removed with a piteous wail. And the blood of the enemy, a fourteen year old boy, bound to a stone, helpless to avert the event unfolding before him.

Smoke poured and the cauldron roiled as foul magic congealed, took form, and did what nature had never intended be done. The dead returned to life.

"Robe me."

The verminous servant, bowing and scraping did as bade, covering his masters nakedness. And for a moment all was still; the world held its breath; fear, anticipation, silence.

"Ah, Harry."

He'd been noticed. The end was nigh. Or so he believed, as the dark lord stepped from the cauldron and approached with an even, flowing stride.

"Harry Potter. Properly, we meet at last."

A million thought rushed through his mind; curses, insults, witty quips. None of them seemed sufficient, none could express the things he needed to express. None, save, "Why?"

"Hmm, what was that?"

"Why?" he repeated with greater force.

"Why? You mean why kidnap you? Why did I kill your parents? Why did you, and you alone, of all my victims survive?"

"Yes."

The dark lord chuckled, "You don't ask for much, do you."

Turning from the boy who had not long to live, "Wormtail, your arm. No, the other one."

With a fallen face, he offered his whole arm; the hideous mark as clear and vibrant as the day it was placed came to life under the dark lords wand.

The call was sent, and soon they came. Foul men; powerful men; the unknown or well acquitted, the survivors of the aftermath. Black cloaks and white skull masks, they came; the few, the fearful, the death eaters.

Harry recognized them from the world cup. He struggled against his bindings but it was no good. He was trapped, forced to watch as the dark lord went around chastising the men who had come for their questionable faith.

Some names he recognized; Goyle, Rookwood, Malfoy. They were powerful men; influential, well-connected, and all cowered before the misshapen thing that was their 'beloved' dark lord, flesh once more.

"I returned to you," the traitor sniveled.

Harry openly scoffed, knowing better even than Voldemort how loyal the rat was; what really sent him scurrying back to his vile master. There was however, some compassion in the thing that had once been Tom Riddle. The silver hand he produced to replace the one sacrificed was an impressive piece of magic. More theatrics; flexing in front of his minions.

"Now, it is time. Go, fetch the things from the house, quickly."

Pettigrew took off at a loping run; peculiar sort of thing yet entirely appropriate to the one doing it.

"He is rather useful you know," said the dark lord, his tone conversational as he calmly circled his prey.

"He's a bloody coward," Harry spat.

"Exactly. Cowards are very useful, and most people are cowards to some degree. It's just a matter of knowing what they fear. Know this, and you can make them do anything."

Pettigrew returned with surprising speed, much to Voldemort's delight. "Excellent Peter. Now my friends, let us put the past behind us. All is forgiven. Rise, rise and make ready. Nott, you were here the last time, and Rookwood. Prepare the circle. Let us make ready to send Mr. Potter on his way."

The death eaters burst into activity. Black and red candles were placed about a swiftly inscribed chalk circle. Strange shapes were added and filled with items whose purpose Harry couldn't even begin to guess at. He suspected they weren't pleasant though.

"Amazing isn't it?" The dark lord watched his minions with a smile akin to a proud father. It seemed painfully unnatural on his distorted face. "The vast potential of magic, truly a sight to behold."

"Looks like a lot of junk in a circle," which it did to someone who'd never studied rituals, like Harry.

Voldemort frowned, "I suppose I should expect that from you. The tragic result of a Hogwarts education.

"Do you know they used to teach a number of subjects no longer offered. They proved too challenging for some, too dangerous for others. Yet they still 'teach' divination."

Something in the way he shook his head at 'divination' caught Harry's attention. The quirk of the lip, rueful almost. "Don't tell me you took divination."

"Merlin no!" he scoffed. "The teacher was a fraud, a fact she herself fully acknowledged. Still," he allowed, "perhaps if I had, we would not be here right now."

"Master, preparations are complete."

"Excellent. Begin the chant. Malfoy, you lead. The rest of you join in when you can."

"What're they doing?" He was afraid to know the answer, but at the same time his curiosity was piqued.

"Opening a portal," the dark lord explained, "so we may send you on your way."

"You're not going to kill me?" slipped out before he could thing about it.

When he put it that way Harry wondered if he should be hoping for him to try.

"No Harry, there are powers involved beyond either our understanding. In so many ways we are bound together, you and I. Blood, battle, and perhaps most importantly, prophecy."

"WHAT!"

"Yes, sounds absurd, doesn't it. You see, I went after your family, because I was brought a part of a prophecy that led me to believe you would be my downfall. And in my haste to avoid that fate, I ran head long into it. Funny, don't you think?"

No, he did not. He couldn't even believe what he was hearing. "That's why you murdered my parents, some stupid prophecy?"

"No, only part of a stupid prophecy." He wore an insufferable grin, like it were all some great joke. Harry couldn't find the humor, it had gone into hiding when the wind started picking up.

"I admit, it was a foolish thing to do. Acting with incomplete information. There's no faster way to failure Harry." The dark lord shouted over the howling wind, seemingly oblivious to the flashing and twisting of space behind him.

"It's possible I could kill you Harry. But then again, perhaps not. Thanks to our friend Peter, I now know the prophecy, in full. I won't bore you with the details, we haven't time, but the short of it is, so long as one of us lives, the other cannot survive."

"So why not kill me?" Harry shouted, the wind now screaming at a frightful pitch.

"Perhaps I could. But I failed once, your mother, granting you protection with her sacrifice. Perhaps I could kill you, but I see no reason to try my luck twice, when there are better options."

Upon saying this, the warping space broke and a crack appeared in the universe. Harry felt the heat on his face, stifling; it stole his breath and he gasped for air but it all tasted of dust and sulfur.

"What—is…" he tried to ask but the assault on his biological breathing apparatus hindered his inquiry.

"You were raised by muggles Harry, surely you must know. Shouldn't the sulfur and brimstone by sufficient clue."

"What are you talking about!" he screamed, fear overcoming survival instinct in the face of the universe breaking before him.

"I believe it was likely the inspiration for the Christian realm of eternal punishment."

A smile lit the dark lords face as realization struck Harry like a freight truck.

"That's right Harry. I'm sending you to hell. And when you are gone there will be no one to stand in my way. All Britain will bow, and then the world."

He screamed as the dark lord began to laugh; fought with all his strength when the grave statue rose and began floating toward the crack.

"Goodbye Harry Potter. Safe journey."

Screaming to beat the wind, Harry Potter was hurled into another world, the break in the universe sealing shut swiftly behind him. And in the following silence, the dark lord did smile.

"The world is mine."


	2. Chapter 2

Grimdark  
Chapter 02 – Ten years later

…

Ten years; to a young man it can seem like a very long time. To an old man, even longer, as he's not likely to see the end of it. However you measured it, ten years was a long time, a time in which much could happen.

London had certainly seen better days in the past ten years than the current one. Fear ran up and down the streets goading anyone foolish enough to be out. A cloud of gloom, entirely unrelated to the murky gray clouds overhead, hung heavy about the place, dragging down everyone and everything into morbid depression.

If things were bad in London, they were worse in its suburbs. Once fine homes now looked like abandoned shacks. Most were, abandoned that is; their occupants long gone, dead or simply disappeared.

That last one was a frequent occurrence. Walking down the street now came with the unfortunate and altogether likely result of never reaching your destination. It was no way to live; and many had taken that idea to its logical conclusion. But not all.

Small shapes moved behind decrepit hedgerows, tiny eyes peering into the deserted streets. Nothing, not even a bird or stray cat. It was eerie, abnormal, unnatural.

"They're out there. I know they are."

"We need to go."

"If we go, they'll find us."

"We can't stay here."

"I'm scared."

"Shh! Listen!"

Their ears strained; nothing. Nothing but excited, deafening silence.

"We need to go."

Cautiously, five sets of feet, and their accompanied attachments, crept from the hedgerows and began a slow walk down the street. There were five of them, four boys and one girl, all of whom were ragged and dirty; a bunch of frightened scarecrows creeping down the street.

"Do you think they'll be there," the little girl asked in barely a whisper.

"They have to be. They just have to be," said the boy at the head of the column; the leader as it were.

"We're almost there. Just one street down and three houses over," said the boy at the back of the line, a glimmer of hope daring to peek out behind the barest hint of a smile.

Galivanting down the street, fear saw that vile glimmer and flew into a rage.

The clouds overhead rumbled ominously, and lightning exploded into the street. The children leapt in terror as a frantic looking woman in stiletto heeled boots appeared before them.

"Well what ave we eer. A bunch of ickle babies awl awone. Where is mumsy and dada ickle babies?"

Her smile was unhinged, driving daggers of fear into their hearts. A few shuddering steps were taken in retreat, but this was abruptly halted by a snarl from behind which had them leaping again.

"Hello meat," a savage looking man growled with a smile as kind as a shark.

"Greyback, no! Bad dog! These are my toys," the mad woman shrieked.

"There's enough to go around Bellatrix," he said, paying her little mind in favor of his prey; a wolf circling five tiny, frightened rabbits.

Run rabbits, run. "Run!"

Darting in random directions the adults watched them go, cackling. "They really think they can get away, that's so cute," chortled Bellatrix.

"I do love the chase," it was the wolf in him.

While Bellatrix skipped playfully after her chosen quarry, Greyback bounded after his. Vaulting over an abandoned auto the child skidded to a halt, frantically reversing course; the werewolf watched, gave him a sporting head start then loped after him.

"Come on, run!"

"I'm trying!"

She was the smallest and weakest of the group. The boys had been helping her every step of their flight to freedom; now they practically dragged her as they literally ran for their lives.

"Run faster babies. Mumsy is coming to get you." The manic laughter ran like ice water down their backs. Their bodies pushed past physical limits, but it was all for naught as they ran headlong into the very thing they were fleeing.

Knocked sprawling to the ground the three children scrambled in fear of the cackling woman. Fear turned to rage; the leader charged her screaming madness. The woman grinned wickedly, flicking her wand, catching him with a spell that sent him tumbling to the ground.

"Michael!"

Bellatrix tittered as the boy tried to rise. His whole body was shaking, skin swelling, turning bright red. Blood flowed from beneath the fingernails, his eyes, nose; finally, even his pores streamed crimson life. He screamed in pain beyond imagining, shaking violently till his brain was unable to process the drastic inversion and abruptly ceased to function.

His body dropped with a wet, sickening squelch; lifeless. The girl wailed but the other boy, mind broken watching his best friend so brutally murdered lost the ability to think. Instinct and rage lifted him to his feet and sent him sailing at the murdering witch.

His bravado was not missed. A flick of her wand knocked him away, again and again. But no matter how many times she knocked him down he just kept getting back up. Things like pain no longer registered.

"David don't, stop!" the little girl cried, able to see the futility that he couldn't.

"No, no you're doing wonderful poppet. Keep going," Bellatrix cried, cheerfully flinging him away again.

She misjudged the fling and sent him careening into a light pole. Connecting hard, his neck bent at an odd angle. He didn't get back up.

"Oh bother."

"David!" The little girl ran to him, heedless of the madwoman watching sourly. "David. David! David get up," the girl begged, tears streaming down her face.

He wouldn't though. No matter how she pleaded, he would never get up.

"Well, poo! That's gone and spoiled the mood," she groused, stalking up to the crying child, her heels clicking viciously. "Now all I've got left is you."

The girl looked up at the vile witch and broke; embraced fully by utter hopelessness, she hadn't even any tears left to cry. They were dead. They were all dead. What reason was there to live?

"Uch, not even going to beg for your life? How boring. Just lay down and die you little mud blood."

A green glow lit the tip of her wand, but before she could utter the unforgivable incantation an explosion blasted her off her feet and across the street.

"Sorry aunty, but I can't let you do that."

Partially stunned, the wicked witch looked up at a familiar man with slick blonde hair, holding her toy protectively. "Draco," she crooned. "You never call, you never write."

"You know how it is, busy, busy. Really must dash."

An explosion in the distance momentarily distracted her and when she looked back, he was gone.

"Tsk, that nephew. Such a disappointment," she mused philosophically just as a flaming body came crashing into the street.

"Bloody ow!" it complained, dragging itself out of the crater.

"Really Fenrir, you're so dramatic," said Bellatrix, lying on the ground poking at the birds floating round her head.

"Ah stuff it Trixy," the werewolf growled, brushing the fire off his shoulders like so much dust.

Halfway across the country, a trio of adults was arriving home with a trio of children. Draco was the last to arrive.

"We're here!" he shouted. "How'd it go?"

"We got two." The speaker, a red-haired woman ran up to the pale haired man, throwing her arms around him. "I was worried about you."

"I was worried about you too," he replied, reveling in her presence.

"You just get the one," asked the third abruptly as a group of receivers scurried into the room.

"Ron!" the ginger female glared at her brother who remained entirely unfazed.

"There was nothing I could do for them." Regret was more than hinted by his tone, but before more could be expressed, one of the boys they'd brought back doubled over, clutching his stomach.

"What's wrong?"

Draco didn't need to ask; he could see it. The boy's belly, swollen and glowing; like a volcano about to erupt.

"BOMB!" he cried, but too late. And halfway across the country two maniacs cackled as the receiving room was turned into an abattoir.


	3. Chapter 3

Grimdark  
Chapter 03 – Make ready the way

…

"You're sure you're alright?"

"I'll be fine."

"You're really sure."

"Yes."

It was cute that she worried about him, but a man could only take so much fussing.

"You still look a little pale."

According to most people he always looked pale. "Gin, enough! I'm fine."

He regretted the outburst almost as fast as he made it. He didn't need to see the hurt cross her beautiful face before it was replaced by anger to know what was coming.

"Well fine!" Furiously stalking off only got her two steps before she was grabbed roughly, "Let me go! Let me mmmm…"

Hot lips crushed against hers, blurring her thought processes. Wanton hands roamed and she was forcibly shoved against a wall to prevent her escaping. "Of all the women in the world, I had to fall in love with you," he growled, nipping at her neck, reveling in her little yelps.

"Draco," she moaned.

"Get a room!"

The fire died as quickly as it had surged, and a pair of glares were leveled at the one responsible. "Ron," his sister growled, ready to lay into him with all the fury of a female Weasley.

"That's enough." But for a swat on her bottom that gave her something else to think about.

This of course did nothing to dissuade Ron. "Can't even find a bloody broom cupboard, nerve a some people."

"Did you want something, Weasley?" There was a great deal that could be expressed through tone beyond mere words and what they meant. Draco had not grasped this concept in his youth. The stormy look on Ron's face suggested he'd learned much in the intervening years.

"You wanna go, Malfoy. Come on."

Draco didn't want to 'go'. Given his unique circumstances he was always on thin ice with his would be allies. Ron knew this as well and used it against him at every opportunity.

"What do you want Ron?"

Ginny's glare had long since ceased to faze her brother; her wand on the other hand, "Dumbledore's called a meeting."

"Then why didn't he send a message?"

"I said I'd find ya."

"How magnanimous of you." The two men held gazes, tensing; flexing. As was usually the case, nothing came of it, and Ginny dragged the blonde along, trailed by her barely tolerated brother.

"Thank you all for coming," said Dumbledore, standing at the head of the old staff table as he addressed Hogwarts defenders. "I'm glad to see all of you well."

In this case, able to walk without support being considered well; never mind the burn scars or the hollow, empty looks. Nope, you were mobile, you were fine.

"What's this all about headmaster?"

Despite Hogwarts having been used as other than a school for many years, most people still called him headmaster. The last headmaster of Hogwarts.

"We have news from several teams and I thought it prudent all be present."

"So, it's just a debriefing meeting," said Draco.

"Yes. And no."

A few people openly groaned. "I don't think any of us are really in the mood for this right now," said Ginny testily. She could be smooching her boyfriend or fighting with her brother; anything to block out the memory of washing intestines out of her hair.

"I assure you Miss Weasley, you will want to hear this." Dumbledore nodded, and a mousy, nervous looking man stood up.

Simon Prestwick was a low-level clerk from a low-level family with just enough magic heritage to be considered pure, but not enough to be considered valuable. A low-level clerk; overworked and abused by his superiors; this was the future that had driven him to the light side; driven him to be a spy.

Naturally, the only one at the table who trusted him was Dumbledore.

"Under headmaster Dumbledore's instruction, I've been searching the archives, discreetly, for any hints of the Grimoire Infernum."

Someone sucked an angry breath at the mention of the demon book. Probably the most important piece of intelligence Draco had brought the resistance when he defected was the truth of Harry's disappearance. Before that, no one on the light side had the slightest idea what had become of him.

"Why the bloody hell you been lookin for that thing?" shouted Ron.

"Because I told him to Mr. Weasley." The old man's tone was even, cool, and hard as stone. Ron sat back down.

"If I might ask headmaster, what is the point?" This question came from a quiet young woman with frazzled hair and glasses, covered in a thick woolen sweater.

"I have strongly suspected for some time, even before Mr. Malfoy revealed his fate, that Harry Potter was not dead."

So had a lot of people. Most of them had given up by this point.

"And what if he is?"

"Yeah, what good does that do us?"

"The prophecy." The table fell silent, all eyes turned to Draco. "That's what it is, isn't it? You want to use him to fulfill that prophecy."

"Very good Mr. Malfoy, yes. Harry is the only one who can stop 'him'. How, I know not, but it is our only chance."

"Killing you know who won't stop the rest of them."

"True," Dumbledore acknowledged. "But, if we cannot defeat 'him', we have no chance of changing anything."

No one argued the point. A few pouted, but they were generally the sort to pout so the rest just ignored them.

"Still, what good does any of this do us. He's there, not here," said Ginny.

"That is something we intend to change Miss Weasley."

"I was able to locate the book," said Prestwick, stunning all but Dumbledore.

"What!"

"How!"

"Where!"

"In a back corner, wedged under the shelves. It was pure luck, I hit it with my broom as I was sweeping."

"Wait, you mean, you have it."

Nervously, Prestwick turned to Dumbledore who placed a large, vile looking book on the table.

"COR!" said Ron, expressing the thoughts of everyone at the table.

"Is that really it?"

"Indeed. I have only viewed the contents briefly, but I believe, with preparation, it can be done."

"You mean?"

"Yes. We are going to bring Harry Potter back."


	4. Chapter 4

Grimdark  
Chapter 4 – Summon the Hero

…

Rituals are difficult, finicky magic; especially if you've never done one before. Powerful ritual magic was not a thing for amateurs, yet that was exactly what was going on. For all his age, wisdom and experience, Dumbledore hadn't ever taken part in a ritual, never mind leading one.

There was something of the dark arts in it he felt. Begging favors from sinister forces and binding minor demons to do one's bidding. One never bound anything stronger than a lesser demon if they wished to survive the experience, that was just common sense. Creatures that could be the size of houses (or castles in some cases) did not take orders, no matter how nicely you gave them.

Domination was the name of the game, and mortals, even magical mortals, just lacked the necessary force to be anything but bit players in such a game.

"Are we ready?" the old man asked, as much for those present as for his own sake.

What they were doing was unprecedented. No one had ever tried summoning a human out of the Infernum. Most would have never believed it possible, since what human could possibly survive in the Infernum.

They nodded in response, and Dumbledore began the chant. It was a foul sounding thing; he'd been practicing it in parts for weeks; not daring to do the whole thing and risk calling something by accident with no way to contain it.

The others joined in, adding melody and depth to the wretched song reaching between worlds. Space twisted like a contortionist warming up for something really mind bending. Fold, twist, square knot, grapevine. Space and time groaned under such abuse; a kaleidoscope of colors exploded across the floor; were then swallowed by a bubble of darkness shining brighter than the sun.

The four people flinched back as light became sound, a deafening roar of a million monstrosities baying in perfect disharmony. Minds bent to the point of breaking, madness loomed like a happy clown with a shiny straight razor. Just a little off the top guvnor.

Then, all at once it was over. Light was light, albeit poor and flickering. Sound was sound and the sound of frantic panting. The baying had ceased, the clown had fled, sanity returned, slowly, cautiously.

"Was—was it supposed to do that?"

The question, more of a whimper, came from Lavender Brown, one of the few who could be coaxed into participating. Something she was no doubt regretting as her entire body trembled, begging to expel anything and everything out of whatever hole surrendered first.

"I—I think…" though doing so he found to be inordinately difficult. Had they failed? Was this simply the result of what they were trying to do. He didn't know. He didn't know and he couldn't keep a straight thought in his head long enough to figure it out.

"Headmaster, the circle."

Dumbledore looked to where Ron, the only volunteer, had pointed.

In the center of their summoning circle, something lay groaning. Fleshy pale, it moved, propped on an arm, then another. Slowly, it rose to stand; a hand running through a mess of black hair. Green eyes flashed, taking in his surroundings, blinked in surprise.

"The hell am I?"

"Harry!"

Green eyes blinked some more, "Ron? Now that's a face I haven't seen in while," he said, surprisingly nonchalant for someone waking up other than where he went to sleep.

"Harry?" Green eyes turned to the old man with a thoughtful hum. "Harry, you are back."

"Back?" His expression suggested he found the idea odd. "Back where?"

"You are home Harry."

"No. No room in my citadel has this sort of stonework."

Citadel? "This is Hogwarts Harry. You are no longer in Infernum."

"I wasn't in Infernum."

"WHAT!" said Lavender very 'calmly'.

"Well—where were you?" asked Ron.

"At a party in Pandemonium. One of my allies was hosting. Couldn't say no."

It was slightly unsettling how calm he was about the situation, as though waking up naked in strange places was perfectly normal. Speaking of naked.

"Could—could I ask—why, um, why are you naked?"

Harry turned to the fourth, looked her over very deliberately, "I don't believe we've met."

The woman turned brilliant red as the naked man's full attention turned to her, "Uh, Patience!" she squeaked. "Patience Preston."

"Charmed, I'm sure."

The cocksure grin, a young man's best weapon, reduced the timid girl to unintelligible mumbling. Turning his gaze to the other female, "Lavender wasn't it? Lavender Brown."

"You remember me?" Her smile was small, tired, but it felt the occasion worth an appearance.

"You look a bit different than the last time I saw you."

"It has been ten years."

"For you maybe. Time runs on different rates in Infernum, and don't even get me started on Pandemonium, but what would you expect from the realm of chaos."

"Naked!" Patience suddenly cried. "Why! Why naked?"

"Huh, well what do you usually wear to an orgy?"

This did not appear to be the desired answer as the blushing girl went from full body to atomic. It was so bad poor Lavender seemed to catch a case just by proximity.

"Really mate, are you serious?"

"Bout what?"

"You went to an orgy?"

"No, it turned into an orgy."

"How!"

"Put two succubi together and they'll either start fighting or fucking. Either way everyone else usually gets involved pretty quick."

"Cor!"

"CLOTHES! PLEASE!"

The unclothed man glanced at the glowing girl, chuckling at her mortification. Casually he stepped up to a shadow covered wall and reached into it; the shadow or the wall it was impossible to say.

What he pulled out was as dark as shadow; soft, inky black, he swung it across his back and slid his arms through till only his hands and wrists could be seen. Grasping another patch of darkness, he slung it around his waist where it wrapped around then tightened to each leg.

His feet were briefly dipped into the shadows on the floor, coming out shining black. He turned around, casually buttoning up his shirt, "Is that better darling?"

Patience nodded frantically, her hair shaking at such rapidity.

"Lovely. Now, would someone mind telling me why you went to all the trouble to drag me out from under a pile of succubus."

…

"Seriously mate? A pile?"

Harry smiled at his friend as the two strode the halls of Hogwarts, "At least seven."

Unbelievable. Just—unbelievable. Some blokes just had all the luck.

"I think you surprised Dumbledore," he said. "He looked like he didn't know what to think of you."

"I'm more interested in that Patience girl," said Harry. "Reminds me a bit of Susan Bones I think."

"Really?"

"A certain part of her. What did the lads call them back in the day, her Hufflepuppies?"

Ron laughed, "That's right, I remember now."

Susan had been an early bloomer, and boy was she blooming, even at just fourteen.

"Patience is mine though, so watch it."

"Oh really. Looked to me like she couldn't get away from you fast enough."

"Nu uh. She was running away from you."

"Whatever. What about Susan, she still around?"

"No, uh—no we, we lost the Bones. We lost a lot of people, specially early on. No one wanted to admit what was going on. Minister tried to cover the whole thing up."

"He was rather useless as I recall," said Harry.

"Bought and paid for is what he was," said Ron with a hint of snarl, "by Lucius Malfoy course."

"Everyone has their price," said Harry, nodding sagely. "You know you still haven't told me why you went to all the trouble of summoning me."

"We wanted you back."

"Uh huh, but why?"

"Well, it's just," how did he tell him? How did he tell him they'd brought him back just to fight?

"Rooooon. What aren't you telling me?"

"Well, there might, be a little, prophecy," he mumbled.

"I know."

"oh…—… Wait, what?"

"He mentioned it just before he chucked me into Infernum. Something about a connection, marked as his equal, neither may live while the other survives or something. Really, he was just bragging at that point. Quite the character that Vol…"

Ron's hands flew to Harry's mouth, "Don's say his name!"

"Really Ron? Really," he said, pulling the hands off his face.

"You can't say it. It's taboo."

Harry scoffed, "Seriously! This kind of cowardice is why you're losing."

"What! No, I mean his name is the taboo. If you say it anywhere in Britain they'll know, and they'll come."

His friend looked at him contemplatively, "They can't get in though, can they?"

"We sealed off all the secret tunnels. But we don't like to draw their attention. And we don't want them finding out about you."

Harry nodded; Ron relaxed. "Where are we going?"

"Hospital wing."

A place his friend had once been well acquainted. He was there for a stint at least once every year of his school time career. It looked quite different than it had back then; bigger, more crowded.

"I see the war effort is going well."

Every bed was full, and most of the occupants were not easy to look at. Even those entirely wrapped in bandages; the parts that were still there that is.

"They hit one of our safe houses a week ago," said Ron. "They all managed to get out alive, but…"

"A few pieces got left behind."

"Yeah."

"How'd they find it?"

"Dunno."

"You mean you don't know, or nobody knows?"

"Uh?"

Harry sighed, walking the length of the infirmary. He seemed surprised at what he found at the end, "Hermione."

She did not look like the others. Dressed in a simple gown, no marks, no bandages; it would have been easy to believe they'd walked into her bedroom by accident if they didn't know better.

"Yeah, she's—she's in here too." said Ron, choking up looking at her.

"What happened to her?"

"Uh, well—that is…"

"She was beaten," said a stern, matronly voice as a stern, matronly woman marched up to them and started casting, "raped as well, then memory charmed, badly."

"Madam Pomphrey."

"Poppy, we're fine," Ron complained as she continued her examination.

"I'll be the judge of that," she said shortly. Finishing on Ron, she considered her results. "Acceptable," before turning her wand on Harry. She swished and flicked, drew figure eights and other obscene symbols in the air looking more and more frustrated.

"Getting anything?"

The medi-witch looked up at the man she was examining with a suspicious scowl, "No."

"You won't either," he said. "Cowl protects me from any sort of scanning," he continued, indicating his outfit. "So long as he's wrapped around me, I'm no more substantial than a shadow."

"Cor!"

"I see." But she clearly wasn't happy about it. If she pursed her lips any tighter, they'd disappear.

"How long has she been like this?"

"Five years," said the medi-witch without needing to think.

"And she hasn't woken up?" Two heads indicated the negative. "Why keep her then?"

"Harry!"

"What?"

Ron goggled at him disbelieving, "She was your friend."

"A corpse is a corpse, even if it still breaths," he replied calmly.

"While that may be true," Pomphrey said, "her mind isn't dead. The brain is still active."

"Yet she won't wake up."

She nodded, "I don't understand it; this was never my specialty. I only know whoever charmed her bunged it up so badly that, well, this."

"Who did it?"

"We don't know," said Ron, a shameful look crossing his face.

"So, you keep her alive in the hopes she might someday come back."

"Hope springs eternal Mr. Potter." The voice boomed out masterfully as he strode across the room.

"Dumbledore, where'd you run off to?"

The old man smiled paternally, "Forgive me, I had to retrieve something from my office," he said, drawing the item from his beard.

"Is that, his wand?" Ron gasped.

If not, it was a most impressive fake. "Eleven and a half inches. Holly and phoenix feather. Yeah, this is it."

"I'm hesitant to tell you just how much trouble we went through to get that back," he said, not sounding terribly hesitant.

Harry just nodded, but Ron couldn't help but stare. He looked just like a hero, ready to go off to battle. They'd been waiting so long for such a hero, and now he was there; sword in hand; dragon beware.

He was still staring when Harry tilted back his head, opened his mouth and slid the wand down his throat. Staring quickly became gaping, and Ron knew he was not alone.

"You—you just…" Ron babbled while gaping. He did it exceptionally well too, like a fish; largemouth bass.

Harry just looked at those gaping and patted his stomach, "Safe keeping."


	5. Chapter 5

Grimdark  
Chapter 05 – Opportunity knocks

…

"Come on, let's go!"

"Wait up!"

"Keep it down. You wanna wake the whole bloody castle?"

With swift and stealthy steps, they made for the gates of Hogwarts. Their body language spoke of haste; their purpose of the clandestine sort, secretive. For people trying so hard to be stealthy they were making a ridiculous amount of noise.

"Come on, move it."

"What's the rush?"

"We need to check on Prestwick. He hasn't checked in."

"Probably nothing."

"I hope—I hope he's alright."

He wasn't, that was almost certain. When your spy didn't show up when they were supposed to, it seldom meant anything good for their health. Plus, hoping someone was alright was the best way to guarantee they weren't. Universe just loved that sort of humor.

The quartet passed the gates and skulked through sparse shadows till they arrived at the train station. Giving the area a quick once over; missing about a dozen monitoring and tracking spells in their haste, the group disapparated, reappearing on an old brick street.

The place looked old, as most places inhabited by wizards seemed to. The street signs were all bent, mangled, or otherwise missing, but the place had the distinctive stench of London, if one were inclined to note such things.

Cautiously, with the same bumbling stealth they'd previously shown, the group made their way up the street. Old streetlamps cast a pallor of gloom and dismal light the skulking quartet made no effort to avoid.

Illumination from the buildings was sparse; timidly beaming from behind iron bared windows, few as they were, and not a silhouette to be seen. An unseasonable chill gripped the air, and somewhere in the distance, a howl echoed high in the cloudless sky; a Cheshire moon smiling wickedly.

"Come on. Let's check on him and get out of here."

The four reached their destination, a smaller building toward the far end of the street. They halted in haste when they saw the door was not properly shut. A light was on in the upstairs window and several shadows passed casually inside.

Frozen by uncertainty, they were galvanized by a strangled cry and together they charged in; through the lower rooms and up the stairs which, surprisingly, gave no protest at such abuse.

It was a fool's charge, giving no thought to traps laid in waiting, nor the element of surprise. There were no traps; neither was there surprise when they blasted the door to splinters and only just dodged aside in time to avoid the immediate response.

Fools.

"Prestwick! You alright?"

The response was not Prestwick, unless Prestwick was the type to cackle wickedly. "Come for the little pencil pusher aye? Well, ere ee is, come on in."

Another barrage of spells followed the invitation along with much unkind laughter. By sound there seemed to be six of them at least and they never halted their assault, even to laugh which they continued to do as the quartet forced their way into the room.

Displaying some tactical sense, they moved the furniture to use as barricades and shields when one of the death eaters threw a killing curse. He wobbled afterward; it was a powerful spell, useful, but not something one could just throw around like candy at a parade.

This one was clearly young and drunk on his own power. The others appeared more experienced; none bothered with the murder spell. They had entire tomes of incantations to choose from which they continued to sling at the quartet who replied with stunners and disarming charms.

It was embarrassing to watch; embarrassingly one sided. Their barricades were being chipped away by spells of pain and torture, and they replied with stunners.

It wasn't impossible for them to win; even with four to six odds. But the longer the fight went the more likely those odds were to shift further against them. They had no reinforcements coming, but the death eaters might.

It was a conundrum. On the one hand he could, even should let it play out, let them earn their win; suffer for it, maybe learn something.

On the other hand, this was probably how they'd been fighting for years. Learning something seemed unlikely; dying on the other hand grew more and more certain with every spell.

He didn't want them to die, he could use them. They needed some work, but he could use them.

"Only one thing to do I suppose."

…

"Draco, what do we do?"

He wished he knew. They were pinned down, outnumbered, hamstrung by a refusal to use lethal force. In short, they were sunk. They'd been in a better position out in the hall but Ron, like the stereotypical Gryffindor, had charged in without consideration and now they were stuck.

There was only one way they survived. He knew spells he'd never dare use normally. Vile, horrible spells. Area damage spells, big ones. There were two reasons he hadn't used them from the start.

Prestwick was over there and liable to be caught in one of them. And, perhaps more importantly, Ron would see anything even mildly gray as him returning to character and use that as an excuse to do what he'd been waiting to do since the day he'd turned up at Hogwarts and surrendered.

Thin ice is where he had lived since that day. No matter what he did, how many he saved, no one trusted him, but her. He could defeat the dark lord and it still wouldn't be enough, they still wouldn't trust him, except her.

Filled with tears her fearful gaze bore into him, begging silently for something, anything. For her he'd do it. For her he would cross that line, prove her brother right, prove all of them right. For her, he'd do it, whatever 'it' was.

It, as it turned out, was the foulest curse he knew outside the unforgivable. He was desperately trying to remember the exact incantation when his train of thought was diverted sharply off the rails by a horrible scream.

He turned, confused, to the others who looked at him equally perplexed; the scream hadn't come from them. Was it Prestwick? Were they torturing him?

Another scream shot chills down their spines; the scream or the wet gurgling that followed. It happened again and again, screams, practically squeals of animal terror shook the tiny room and the sound of ripping and tearing made him feel like a terrified child in the presence of the monster under his bed; the one mother always said wasn't real.

A few moments, an eternity later, the noise stopped, and eerie silence crowded into the room. The sudden lack of sound was somehow more terrifying than the bloody screaming.

"You planning to hide back there all night?"

The voice so calm, so nonchalant; it sounded familiar. Daring to peek, he peered around the ruined divan seeing a man dressed all in black casually leaning against the couch where Prestwick half lay. Running a hand through tousled black hair it came away dripping red which he carelessly flicked at the wall.

"Bloody mess," he grumbled. "Always gets in the hair."

"Harry?" the others had come out to see and were surprised as he by what they found.

"Evening," he greeted. "Someone wanna check on him? He's still breathing but not much else."

Ginny and Patience ran to check on Prestwick while Draco darted to the door—frame, to see if anyone else was coming. Ron just stood there staring.

"Harry, what're you—I mean, how did you—I mean, uh?..."

"Take your time, I got all night."

"How did you get here?" Draco asked when it looked like it would take Ron all night.

"Followed the four of you," he replied. "Your stealth needs work by the way."

"What did you do?" This came from Patience who looked slightly queasy at the blood splattered on the walls.

Draco wasn't, it made him think. That's not nearly enough blood for all the noise they'd made. The place should have been dripping in gore. But it wasn't, and Harry just stood there with a smile that said so many things, and as smugly as possible.

"I saved your lives. You're welcome."


	6. Chapter 6

Grimdark  
Chapter 06 – You did what!

…

"Mr. Potter, it is difficult to express how disappointed I am in your recent behavior."

"That so."

"I believe I made it clear you were not to leave the castle."

"You did say something to that effect I believe."

"And you disobeyed me, endangering four others in the process."

"Certainly an interesting way of looking at it."

The old man added several layers of wrinkles as he scowled at Harry's flippancy, "Do you think this is funny Mr. Potter?" he said gravely.

"I do actually, more than a little."

"People nearly died!" the old man snapped, a remarkable loss of composure from what he remembered of him.

"No. People did die. Six of them. I killed them. If I hadn't, they would have killed your people, so you're welcome."

It was interesting watching the old man restrain himself; all the twisting, scrunchy facial movements. Self-restraint was always difficult; he'd once tried doing it with ropes and a padlock and gotten out in minutes.

"Mr. Potter."

"Hmm?"

"This will not happen again."

"Probably not. I understand he was your only spy so there shouldn't be a need to go save any more."

Once again, face contortion tricks, this time with grinding teeth, "You are not to leave the castle. Is that understood?"

"Sure."

The old man relaxed minutely. Harry could have laughed because he had no intention of staying inside the castle, and there wasn't a damn thing the old fool could do to change that. Let him dream.

"So, how'd it go?" Ron asked when he came sauntering down the stairs.

"He growled and blustered like the big bad wolf and told me not to leave the castle again."

"Maybe you should listen to him."

"Nope." He took orders from one person, all else was merely a polite suggestion.

"He is in charge Harry," the ginger said, trying to appeal to Harry's respect for authority. Unfortunate since the only authority he respected was his own.

"And tell me Ron, what has he done to win this war? Defeated the dark lord perhaps?"

"Come on Harry, you know he can't do that."

"I know he won't do that. Can't is an entirely other matter."

"But the prophecy…"

"Merely implies we cannot coexist, and I have some power he doesn't know about." Having finally heard the whole thing some days earlier he'd scoffed about as hard as a person could. There were several holes; obvious holes, and it merely said he would end the bastard. No mention was made of the condition he need be in.

"He's doing the best he can Harry."

"Which is a rather appalling thought. He should have stepped aside years ago," said Harry. "I save his people and he balls me out like I'm a naughty a teenager because I disobeyed him. He's hamstringing you all with his incompetence."

"It's not like that."

"Stunners Ron. Stunners and disarming charms. They were ready to blast you all to bits and you were trying to stun them."

"Well—when you say it like that, sounds kinda…"

"Stupid."

"Well, what are we supposed to do, fight like them?"

"If you want to win, you'll fight better than them. You can't afford to do any less."

"Kill them you mean?"

"Obviously."

"Harry!"

The last Potter gave his friend a long sideways look, "Ron, it's a war. Your ideologies are diametrically opposed. They cannot coexist, and their side is not the least bit hesitant to murder all of you in the most gruesome fashion possible. What part of that was unclear?"

Ron had no response; utterly gob smacked he followed behind Harry silently till they came across a familiar figure, walking the corridors alone.

"Patience!" One could practically hear him leering.

Patience appeared to, expelling a deep sigh, "Hello Ronald, eep!" She froze like a startled squirrel seeing Harry.

"Hello Patience."

Her cheeks blossomed like cherries; words failed, her tongue tying itself in interesting knots. Looking away quickly she babbled something and fled down the hall, out of sight.

"You scared her," said Ron.

"It's kind of adorable really."

"Hey, hands off, that one's mine."

"Really?" Giving his friend a disbelieving look he resisted the urge to chuckle. "Bet I can get her first."

"I'm not joking Harry. Back off."

Harry shook his head at Ron's persistence. There was no reasoning when the little head was in the lead and it hardly mattered. Her feelings on Ron seemed clear to everyone but Ron, but her reaction to him was curious. A slow seduction might be in order, fun too; wear down her defenses, get her to come to him.

Hmm, perhaps later; for now, he had more important things to do.

"Wha! Where did you get that?"

"Dumbledore's office." The book with the skull motif slid out of a pocket in his shirt that should not have been big enough to hold it.

"He let you have it?"

"I wouldn't say that." It would imply he'd wasted time asking.

"You stole it!"

"Borrowed Ron. Borrowed without permission. Seriously, when did you become such a goody goody?"

"So, what are you gonna do with it?"

"Read it."

Ron growled, "Then what?"

"I've things that need to be done and better things to be doing. That's what minions are for. I'll test it out on them, then summon my second in command. Things will go more smoothly with her help."

"Her?"

"Very her?"


	7. Chapter 7

Grimdark  
Chapter 07 – Some like it hot

…

"You're sure you don't want Dumbledore's help?"

"For the last time Ron, no."

They were back in the room where Harry had arrived as he worked out his summoning. He didn't need to be; there was nothing special about the room, but it was already set up, convenient.

"I really got a bad feeling about this Harry."

"That's because you know nothing about summoning." He'd already run a dozen tests, bringing as many minor minions through; all of whom were hard at work. "We summon things across Infernum all the time. This isn't all that different."

"Still…"

"Ron! Either stop whining or go do it somewhere else."

Tossing aside the chalk he dusted himself off and made a few quick gestures at the circle. A gentle hum filled the room and the circle began to glow. Harry made an odd sound in the back of his throat; growl, snarl and several other things that had no proper name. The tongue of devils was never intended to be spoken by mortals.

The sounds orbited the circle thrice before slipping through; a name whispered between worlds like a sultry promise. The room grew hot, balmy, then fire exploded within the circle and from that a shape that was truly hot emerged.

She appeared black at first, but this was just the leathery armor that covered most of her. It was tactical what it revealed; just enough cleavage to tease, midriff to draw attention, the absolute territory that drove men to distraction.

It was working on Ron at least. Harry didn't even need to turn around and look to know the ginger was drooling. He probably hadn't even noticed the horns, long, black, back sweeping; or the tail which swished about frantically the moment she saw him.

"Master!"

A loud 'gong' sounded when she collided face first with the circle barrier. Harry flinched; he'd forgotten about that. The girl visibly shrank, her features growing timid, waif like. "Master is so mean," she whined, rubbing her nose.

Harry made a show of rolling his eyes, "You should have been paying attention," he said, rubbing out a stretch of the circle with his foot. The barrier flickered and she was through, practically purring as she tried to adhere her front to his by way of static cling; there was much rubbing.

"I was just so happy to see you," she squealed, her tail twirling excited loops.

"So I see," said Harry.

"When you disappeared, we didn't know what happened. We were so worried. I was so lonely."

"Course you were," for maybe ten minutes, little whore. "What's the state of our forces?"

"We pulled back to the last fortress we took and set a full garrison. We set small parties of hunters to root out any pockets of resistance and split the remaining force back to Bargrath and Moorenholm."

"Good."

"Did they really summon you out of Pandemonium?"

"They did indeed."

"How stupid." She crinkled her face when she said this like, she'd smelled something foul. It would have been accurate to call the face cute, but that was like saying water was wet or a badger down the pants was 'not' a good time. Cute was the closest to unattractive she ever got.

Even when she was being shit your pants scary, you couldn't help but stand at full attention.

"Buuuu, du mbugu, duh…" speaking of attention.

"Who's that?"

"Ron, forgot you were there for a second."

Though to say he was 'there' may have been reaching. Ron had a particular weakness for females, nearly leaping off the stands to get at a group of Veela. Succubus didn't have the aura allure; they were just hot.

With her face nuzzling Harry's chest, it left her bottom sticking out in a way that begged for attention. Add in the subtle wiggle she did without thinking and it was enough to make a celibate curse.

"You can stop staring anytime now Ron."

"Huh? A wah, I was, I wasn't staring."

It was a laughable defense, made the more humorous when she demanded, "Why not?"

Ron had no answer for that, jaw working without making a sound.

"Is there something wrong with it?" she wondered aloud as Ron tried to turn the volume back on.

"He's just not good with women. Unlike me." And he proved it by grabbing a bit of her wiggly bottom, eliciting a choked scream, her tail going ramrod straight. "Right?"

Loosening his grip, the cherry skinned girl went limp, falling against him like melting butter, "You are scho good to me," she slurred, panting in orgasmic bliss.

"I spose I am, aren't I?"

"WHO!" blurted Ron before realizing the volume was back on at full volume. "Who is she?"

"My second in command," said Harry, stroking the girl's horns. "Her true name is 'difficult' to say. I just call her Delilah."

"I like it when you call me doll face."

Ron didn't know what to think of that; too much blood flowing to the little head for the big head to properly function.

"So, why did you summon me anyway?"

As his second in command it was her job to run things when he wasn't there. After her, the chain of command got a bit complicated.

"Do I need a reason?"

"No."

The fact she was fun and cuddly when she wasn't being hot and sultry was reason enough for wanting her around. Everything else was just icing on the cake; and that cake was well iced; with strawberries.

"I need you to help coordinate our forces here. Now that you've linked back up to me you should be able to travel between here and the citadel."

"A permanent beacon would be better."

Harry nodded; it was a good idea. The beacon in the citadel was what let her travel there with but a thought. "We'll see what we can do. In the meantime, I've got a couple things I'd like you to look at."

Prestwick, despite being rescued, was still in a coma. His body was healing but the torture had caused him to retreat into his mind; he was now refusing to come out.

"It's not bad," Delilah said. "I should be able to coax him out in a night, maybe two."

"Thought you would," said Harry, never doubting she'd be able. Madam Pomphrey would take some convincing; her severe expression, so like McGonagall, spoke of nothing but suspicion for the succubus.

It really was too bad the old Scot wasn't still around. Worse still if what he'd been told of her death was true.

"Now how bout this one?"

Hermione looked exactly as she had the first day he'd seen her lying there. Delilah pressed her forehead to the sleeping girls and hmmed, "Now here's a headcase."

"Bad?"

"Very," she said. "She's in there, but it's deep. She's heavily entrenched. If I can get her out, she's going to be very fragile and I expect her memory will be pretty spotty."

That much he'd expected. Even a bunged-up memory charm was still a memory charm.

"There's something else," she added before he could really begin brooding. "You said she's been like this for a while?"

"Years. Why?"

The succubus nose crinkled, and she stared thoughtfully at her subject. A noise from the other end of the wing drew their attention and Harry had only a second to consider the words whispered into his ear before Dumbledore was storming up to him.

"Mr. Potter!"

"Yes?"

His blasé response seemed to infuriate the old man further for some reason, "What is the meaning of this?"

Harry briefly glanced around the room, "Of what?"

"This!" he gesticulated angrily, drawing the ire of the true master of the domain.

"Mind your tone," the medi-witch hissed.

"My apologies Poppy," the old man backpedaled before turning an icy stare on Harry. "Might we speak outside, Mr. Potter?"

Harry grinned an insufferable grin. He knew it was insufferable because that's how he'd practiced it. "Of course, Albus. Come along Delilah. You too Ron."

The ginger who thought he could hide behind the taller wizard flushed red from tip to tail; babbling excuses as the four of them left the hospital wing.


	8. Chapter 8

Grimdark  
Chapter 08 – Nightmares and dreams

…

The North Sea whipped viciously about the prison isle of Azkaban. Positioned on a barren rock in the most inhospitable bit of water; in all its history there had been but one man to ever escape. Even with the dementors gone, freely roaming Britain, the place still looked like a Gothic nightmare.

"It is quite a piece of work," Harry mused, staring at the mirror he'd set up to his little spy eye.

"It's a miracle Sirius ever got out of that place," said Ron.

"I still can't believe you never told me about that," said Ginny, "or Scabbers."

"Why? Didn't tell him either," said Ron, jerking a thumb at Fred.

"We never did talk enough," said Fred woodenly.

"You're really going to do it then," said Draco. "You're really going to raid Azkaban."

"There's resources there we can use."

"You mean people."

"Same difference."

"There has to be easier targets," Draco argued, "if that's all you're after."

"It's not."

"S'matter Draco, scared?" Ron taunted.

"He'd be stupid not to be," Ginny fired back first.

"Quite right Ginevra," said Harry, before Ron could start arguing. "Azkaban represents many things to many people. None of them good. Leveling that rock will be quite an accomplishment and send a message to both sides."

"You're trying to get their attention," said Draco.

"Among other things. We succeed at this it will send ripples throughout all Britain. After that we can start picking up whatever shakes loose and see where that leads us."

"We haven't the manpower," said Fred. "Even if we brought in everyone."

"Dumbledore doesn't have the manpower," said Harry. "I do."

"You're, not gonna summon more?"

"I am as a matter of fact," he said, looking straight at the cringing ginger. "There a problem with that, snitch?"

When Harry had taken Delilah to the hospital wing to see Prestwick and Hermione, Ron had run and told Dumbledore. He had not been pleased, to put it mildly. The part that really got his goat, Harry thought, was the fact there was nothing he could do about it.

He'd taken the book back, and Harry was just as glad to be rid of it. He didn't need it anymore. He'd only wanted to verify a few things which Delilah's arrival had. A few things he hadn't even bothered to think about as well.

"Well Ron?"

All eyes on him, he cracked quickly, "No. No problem."

"Good." He didn't need Dumbledore getting in the way of his operation. "Fred, ask around, see who wants in."

Fred nodded; a flicker of life visible in his eyes that hadn't been there before.

"What about us Harry?" asked Ginny with Draco at her shoulder.

"We're going to need a way to transport whoever and whatever we bring back."

"We can get the portkeys made and make sure the receivers are ready."

"Good."

"What about me Harry?"

Harry gave Ron a sideways look, "Stick around," he said, so I can keep track of you, he thought.

…

Dark, it was dark; the dark of a room with but a single light hidden in a corner with a large chair wedged in it. A head poked out just above the chair, hair like a woolly bush.

"Hmm, how interesting."

The head was craned over a book. A big book. The pages were filled with meaningless symbols, no pictures.

"Whatcha readin?"

"Nothing," the reply came, soft and hollow.

"Why are you hiding in the corner?"

She slouched further into the chair, "Safe."

"Why don't you come out?"

"No!"

The finality of that statement echoed dangerously. The space around them loomed.

"Alright, alright, we'll stay here." The room relaxed. "Why don't we look at something more interesting."

Twirling a remote in her hand she switched on the TV.

"Television makes you stupid," the girl said as images moved across the screen.

"All depends on what you're watching, like this." The channel switched and a new scene began playing. "Now this is educational material." She smiled at the whispered gasp.

Slowly Delila woke to herself and pulled her forehead from the girl's.

"Any luck," asked the attending medi-witch.

"I made contact," she said, crawling off the bed and flouncing into the chair next to it. "She's in there deep, but I think I got her attention."

If that gasp was anything to go by, she'd need to go slow. That had been a pretty low-key vanilla encounter she'd thrown on the screen. If she was that innocent, her greatest gang-bangs was probably out of the question.

"How's he doing?"

The man called Prestwick she'd already done. A half nights work had been enough to bring him out.

"His body still needs work; I fear it may never fully heal. The extent of the torture burned out many of his nerves, I haven't the materials I'd need to brew something that could fix all that, even if I could brew it."

"Can you brew it?"

The medi-witch looked uncertain, "I suppose I wouldn't know till I tried. Still, we haven't even half the ingredients."

"Get me a list, I'll see what I can do." She had subordinates after all, no sense leaving them to sit around twiddling their appendages.

While the medi-witch went to assess her needs the succubus sat and pondered. If anyone had been conscious enough to observe her, they would have been quite scandalized. When a succubus had reason to ponder there was usually much touching involved; rubbing, pinching, caressing, and all in places prudish people would not so much as mention in public.

The girl was going to be difficult; she didn't want to come out. She would need to be gentle; coax her a bit at a time. Tease her out of her shell. She would not fail; the very idea was unfathomable; her master did not reward failure.

She'd only ever failed once; she still remembered the way he'd looked at her. No punishment could compare with just that look. And she would know, she'd been punished lots of times. She liked being punished, especially spanking. She loved a good spanking. Her master gave the best spankings; just hard enough to sting and with a pleasant tingling in the cheeks, as well as other places.

Thoughts of her master derailed her train of thought from pondering to daydreaming which was a lot like pondering but more thorough and with more fingers.


	9. Chapter 9

Grimdark  
Chapter 09 – Sleeping beauty dreams

…

"Damn! It is cold out here!"

A frigid wind blew off the North Sea like a bitter ex-girlfriend; harsh and loud. Ice capped water assaulted the beach in endless waves and sleet covered the trees in an icy glaze.

"You sure you wanna start here?"

His friend stared out to sea, imperturbable. It was like he was made of stone; incapable of feeling the bite of the freezing as it sank its fangs into his tender flesh.

"This'll do. Decent cover. Plenty of beach. Not too far, so the early infiltrators shouldn't have too hard a swim."

"Swim!" He couldn't be serious. "You're gonna make them swim?"

"Why not."

Why not! "That water's freezing!"

"Doesn't look so bad."

It was a joke. It had to be a joke. He wanted so badly for it to be a joke he refused to believe it wasn't. "You're, not gonna make us swim?"

"No Ron."

Oh thank Merlin. "So how are we getting out there?"

"I have transports."

"What kind of transports?"

His friend turned to him, "The floaty kind."

A growl vibrated his throat but froze on the bitter wind; berk. He'd been like that ever since he'd brought the hot bird with the horns over. He wanted to wring his neck but resisted the urge. He was still his friend which was a reason, but more importantly he didn't trust Harry's shirt.

It seemed silly but he was sure he'd seen eyes on the thing, watching him. Of course, every time he thought he saw them he'd blink, and they'd be gone. Maddening, that's what it was.

"Cold Ron?"

"No, no, I was just thinking of building my summer home out here." Berk.

"Think I'll go for a swim."

"What!"

Before he'd stopped gaping his friend had stripped, strode into the water and disappeared. "What the bloody hell?"

Now what was he supposed to do. Dumbledore had told him to watch Harry. How was he supposed to watch him in that maelstrom?

"Dammit Harry! Just—dammit!"

…

"This is stupid. Why would anybody do that? What were they thinking?"

"Mm, please touch my peepee?"

It was interesting, Delilah concluded, the things this Hermione Granger fixated on. She'd spent days working on her, breaking down her defenses, gaining her trust, learning her preferences.

Her current form was something between male and female; willowy built with messy black hair. The similarities to her master had not been missed but she was careful not to just mimic him. He was a known; that would illicit a powerful, maybe dangerous reaction.

"I just, just don't understand. Why are boys so—so dumb."

"They have the misfortune to be born with two brains but only enough blood to run one at a time."

The girl snorted; immediately embarrassed for doing so. "That's terrible."

"But true."

"No it's not."

"Sure it is."

Her tone was playful and teasing and she was careful to keep it that way. The bushy haired girl was prone to argument she'd discovered and heated easily. Worse, she was also quick to offend and take things personally, a trauma that ran deep, very deep.

"You're preposterous."

"No, you're hippopotamus."

Progress had been made; the room was still dark, but the couch had been pulled away from the corner and the walls were no longer bare. The empty book had also disappeared, and they were sharing the couch.

The physical contact had been difficult at first, scaring her. Time and patience had closed the distance; now they sat, nearly nose to nose, arguing the preposterous.

"That is the silliest thing I've ever heard," Hermione declared with exaggerated importance.

Delilah smirked devilishly, "Oh yeah?"

Quick as a whip her hands lashed out and the bushy haired girl screamed, "YEEK! No! No, don't, ahha, hahaha, eeeehehehe!"

Mercilessly the succubus ran her twitching fingers across the girl's tender, sensitive skin. Screaming and squealing she tried to escape but only managed to fall fully onto the couch. Red faced and panting she stared up at Delilah who looked down at her with devilish mirth.

"Yu, you," Hermione accused, squeaking on reflex as Delilah leaned in close.

"Yes. Me," the succubus crooned, leaning in close, intimately close; close enough to see the girl's eyes widen when their noses touched.

"Uh, I—you," she stuttered with a hint of panic.

"Yes?" The succubus resisted the urge to steal her lips, gently caressing her cheek while nuzzling noses. She wasn't quite at the point where she could steal kisses. Almost, maybe.

Her eyes averted, cheeks flushing furious red. No, not yet she thought, placing a chaste kiss on the cheek she was turned.

"This was fun. Let's do it again real soon."

Her avatar vanished and she watched from the god angle as the bushy haired girl curled in on herself, craving the warmth that had just abandoned her.

Soon, she thought as tears streamed down the girl's face. Soon, she'd be ready. Soon, she'd be begging, pleading. Soon, she'd do whatever Delilah wanted. Then, and only then, would it be time to wake her up.


	10. Chapter 10

Grimdark  
Chapter 10 – Nightmares end

…

A freezing wind blew across the prison isle of Azkaban; just like yesterday, and the day before that, and so on for as long as he'd been there. It was no fun being a low level pureblood under the newest dark lord. The shit jobs were reserved for those like him.

Wizards with money, influence or power didn't have to work guard duty on a god forsaken rock used to punish line thieves and blood traitors (that being half-bloods and those who made them, for the uninitiated). Why they didn't just put them in the camps with the abominations (muggle born) he'd never know, and it wasn't for him to ask.

Golliver Gripe may have been his name but he wasn't stupid enough to take it to heart. Say the wrong thing within earshot of the wrong person and you were liable to wind up on the other side of the bars. He didn't want that.

As crap as he considered his life, at least when it came time to crack the whip, he was the one holding it. He had no tolerance for pain—inflicted on him. Doing it to others; this he had a tolerance for, a very high tolerance. So in a way things had worked out pretty good.

But he still hated it. Hated the weather; the cold, the wind; hated the long shifts, all eight hours; and he hated, absolutely hated his coworkers. A bigger bunch of whiners, milk sops and momma's boys you'd never seen in your life.

And why the bloody hell did they need someone to patrol the shoreline. They were in the middle of bloody frozen nowhere. What was he going to find? Sand, water, ice, a giant dead rat.

… wait a tic. Sand. Water. Ice. A giant dead rat? A GIANT DEAD RAT!

"Bloody hell!"

He openly gaped, since no one was around to see; hardly able to believe what lay before him. The creature was the size of a grown man; sleek, wet, and half buried in the sand.

"What are you?" he wondered aloud, creeping closer; heart waiting to leap out his chest if it turned out not to be dead.

Something struck him suddenly, splatting against the back of his head and sticking. He grumbled, went to wipe it off, and felt some sort of thick cord. Before he could even think to panic, his arm fell limp to his side and he was filled with an overwhelming apathy.

The rat opened its eyes. His heart sat calmly in his chest.

"It's about time Golliver," the creature said, "I was beginning to think you were skiving on your responsibilities."

He wouldn't do that—unless he wanted to and thought he could get away with it. But how did this creature know his name.

"Quite simple," it said. "I am hooked into your brain. What you know, I know."

How horrible. What a truly dreadful fate. So why wasn't he panicking like he thought he should be?

"You do not panic because I am in control. You are just my puppet now. You feel nothing."

That made sense. He wouldn't need to feel anything if he was just a puppet. He didn't even feel curious when his new master took something from his fur, a small green jewel, and chucked it into the water.

He felt no boredom as they stood waiting in the freezing wind; which didn't really seem so bad anymore, that was nice. There was no fear when a pair of titanic forms broke the choppy surface and made for the beach.

The hulking whale, things, heaved themselves into the sand and opened their enormous mouths. From one spilled forth such forms as were only seen in fever dreams; all horns and hooves, wings and claws; demons by any name. From the other came a group of witches and wizards, most of whom looked a little wobbly.

The dark haired green-eyed man who shouted, "Come along everyone, lot's to do," did not. He strode with confidence and purpose ordering the walking nightmares into formation while the magic users stood in loose groupings looking unsure.

"Stromboli, report!"

His puppet master turned the both of them to face the green-eyed man, snapping a smart salute which he mimicked less smartly, smacking himself in the face. It didn't hurt.

"Phase one infiltration complete my lord," the rat said. "According to this one there is only one other human guard set to observe our approach and he is likely drunk."

"Numbers in the fortress?"

"Forty wizards, but there is also a pair of chimera and a manticore."

"Nothing we can't handle," the man said, looking up to the gothic fortress. "Other defenses?"

"Only inward pointing. It seems the architects believed no one would be trying to break in, just the other way around."

"Shame on them," he said, shaking his head. "We now show them the cost of such hubris."

Waving to his first squad which seemed to consist of all the biggest, beefiest demons, "Take the door, clear the entry hall and hold. GO!"

Like different parts of the same beast, the hammer squad loped up the beach. "Remaining squads, forward march!"

Pounding the wet sand beneath their feet, hooves, whatever, they began a slow march after their comrades led by the green-eyed man. The rat and his puppet remained close at hand, leaving the wizards to follow in an uncoordinated mass.

The door had been smashed and hung off one hinge by the time they arrived. Barricades had been erected by the burly demons at the entrance of every hall and looked ready to be defended if the three mangled corpses in the middle of the floor were any indication.

"Entrance secure sir," said a dark red demon with a pair of rings wrapped around one horn, snapping a quick salute.

"Exemplary work as always Sergeant Carbuncle," the man said, returning the salute. "Any trouble?"

The demon shook his head, "We took these three before they'd finished pissing their pants. No sign we've been detected yet sir."

Right on cue, a terrible ruckus sprang up; claxons blared 'INTRUDER ALERT'. "Sounds like we've been detected Sergeant."

"Yes sir," the demon replied, appearing unconcerned.

The man too seemed nonplused when he turned to the second and third squadron and shouted, "Jezebel! Get your skank ass up here!"

A blue skinned female sauntered out of the third squad and presented herself with what had to be the sexiest salute ever given, "Yes sir," she purred.

"Take half your squad and set up fire teams at every barricade. Divide the rest into even teams and prepare for a room by room clearing."

"At once my lord," the succubus crooned, sashaying back to her squad, barking orders like an angry bitch.

"Carapace!"

A black thing scurried forward from the second squadron. Its skin looked hard and shone in the torch lit hall. "Your orders, my lord?"

"Prepare for infiltration. Room by room. Collect the prisoners, kill anyone and anything else."

"At once my lord," it said saluting with both right hands, as it had two, on the left as well.

With speed that spoke of intense rehearsal, teams were assembled and began their attack in earnest. The first wave of wizard defenders died quickly, completely unprepared for the well-coordinated nightmares that plowed through them like so much bloody meat.

Somewhere between being slaughtered and setting up defenses they managed to unleash their monsters, which were of far less effect than they could have hoped. The trio of creatures only managed to tear apart the first line before a group of succubi put them all to sleep.

All of this Golliver observed, his puppet master riding around on his back as they continued to follow the one in charge. The green-eyed man remained near the head of the assault though he had yet to participate except to pull one of his demons off a female prisoner who'd been left tied in a compromising position by whoever had been using her when the attack started.

Golliver watched the not very big man tear the very big demon's head off like so much wet tissue paper before kicking the rest against the wall so hard it cracked.

The whole attack had taken perhaps twenty minutes by the time they came to the last cells. Golliver had never been up this far; there was no one kept here, or so he'd believed.

The last of the Azkaban defenders were quickly falling when the cell door opened and the dementor floated into the hall. The wizards quailed in the presence of the dreadful wraith like thing even though it passed them by.

"Squad, hold!" the green-eyed man ordered, calmly striding to the head of the rank as the dementor came into range.

"Pitiful parasite, know your place." The right sleeve of his shirt split open and something flew at the dementor.

The faceless horror, unable to perceive things in such a fashion, display surprise when the item ripped through its torso. A long chain trailing behind pulled the impaled dementor to the green-eyed man where it was slammed to the floor at his feet.

"Miserable wretch," he muttered just louder than the pitiful keening of the dementor.

The chain jerked, pulling loose the impaling object which turned out to be a large knife with a fine sharp hook at the end. Taking the blade in hand he removed the dementors head with a single swipe; releasing the blade, it hovered on its chain like a thoughtful viper before vanishing back up his sleeve.

"Finish them," he ordered, and the demons surged forward as he turned to look at Golliver. "I think this one has served its purpose Stromboli. Cut his strings."


	11. Chapter 11

Grimdark  
Chapter 11 – Dreamer awakes

…

"I don't want you to leave."

"I have to go."

How many times had Delilah played this scene? More than she could remember; no less than seven just in this dream. It was all too often the result of her work. They never wanted to let her go. It did wonders for her ego.

The bushy haired girl clung to the androgynous avatar on the verge of tears. She was ready. Her fear of being alone had finally surpassed the fear that kept her locked in her own mind.

Now, to guide her out, "I can't stay."

"Why! Why can't you stay? I don't want you to go." The girl wailed into the avatar's chest and Delilah grinned.

"I have to go."

"No. no…"

"Come with me."

She gasped; Delilah could have cackled; it was so easy.

"Come with me," the avatar repeated, pulling the unresisting girl to her feet.

"Wha—where are we going?" Her eyes were wide, fearful; she resisted when the door appeared.

"Come with me."

The door opened and a brilliant light shone through. She panicked, losing her grip and stumbling back, "No!"

"Come with me."

The avatar backed through the doorway and vanished into the blinding light. Tears poured like rivers, "No! Don't go."

"Come with me."

"I can't. Please, don't go. Please."

No reply. A tentative step toward the light halted; a shuffle, barely.

"I—I can't," she begged, two fears dragging her in opposite directions.

"Hurry," a voice whispered in her ear. "I can't hold it much longer."

The door creaked, beginning to close. A fearful shriek; she dove through the door, shutting closed behind her.

"Too easy."

…

She was dead, that was her first thought. The sludge of years gummed the gears of her mind, slowing every process. A great weight held her down like a smothering blanket of lead. Heavy; her eyelids were so heavy, but she forced the iron gates open slowly, slowly.

"And sleeping beauty wakes."

The voice surprised her, eyelids falling shut, "Who—is, is someone there," she breathed with barely a sound.

"I am here," the voice said, calm and comfort echoing every syllable. "Quite the nap you've had."

Something touched her cheek and she felt it, warm and real. It moved to her eyes, rubbing the lids, brushing the lashes, lifting the wretched weight that held them down. "Open your eyes."

Timidly, she did so. Fluttering at first, the world a blur. Several blinks brought things into focus and she saw her.

She smiled, "Hello dalling."

The smile, the greeting; they filled her with such feelings. She remembered feelings, but she couldn't recall what she was meant to do with them. Questions; that was the ticket, ask questions. There was one in particular that was incessantly nagging her.

"Um, excuse me."

"Yes precious."

"Uh, um, it's just—am, am I in hell?"

The red skinned woman with the golden eyes and obsidian black horns tittered briefly, "No child, you are not. Though personally, I don't know that I find this, Hogwarts, to be all that much better."

Hogwarts! The old, underused synapse fired for the first time in years and her eyes grew sharp. "I remember Hogwarts."

It was a battle, turning her head; nothing seemed to be working like she thought it should, but the ceiling wasn't going to tell her anything. She found the room full of beds as far as she could see, and all occupied.

"Hospital wing." It sounded right. Hogwarts had a hospital wing and that's where you'd expect to find sick people in beds.

"Would you like some help with that?"

A crimson hand gently took her by the chin and did what her neck was refusing to do. Her eyes were moist with frustration, but she managed a weak, "Thank you."

"Take your time," she replied.

Time? That was a fine thing, wasn't it? She'd once played with time, rather foolishly. Such a thing should not be taken for granted. "How long have I been here?"

"Several years I was told."

She made a weak choking noise when the full weight of that hit her. Years? She'd been lying in a bed for years. No wonder nothing worked. Her muscles must have all the tension of overcooked spaghetti.

"What happened?"

"I'm afraid I wasn't privy to that information," the woman said, casually wiping the moisture dripping from her eyes while stroking her hair in a comforting fashion. "Do you not recall?"

Did she? It didn't seem likely. Everything was moving with painful slowness, especially her brain. Possible the information was in there and she'd find it eventually. "Who are you?'

"My master calls me, Delilah."

"Master?"

"Indeed."

"You're, a slave?'

It was a bit humiliating when she laughed aloud. If the girl could have felt any smaller than she already did she'd probably invert. "It wasn't funny."

"It was a little," Delilah countered, wiping a mirthful tear from her eye. "There are no slaves in Infernum. The weak submit to the strong or die. That is just the way of things."

How horrible, she thought; though her condition may have been coloring her perception just a little.

"I am not weak, but this was not always so. Under my master I have grown strong and in doing so increased his strength. I am his right hand. Second only to him. To he and he alone I have sworn my loyalty, and only death will break that vow."

"Oh!" What more could you say to that? "He—he sounds very, um, nice?"

"He can be," she said. "And cruel. And fierce, passionate, thoughtful. He is many things, and all of them in their proper time."

"You sound very fond of him."

"Oh yes," she said with a faraway look. "I think of him often, especially those long lonely nights. I dream, such dreams, his wandering hands, his burning lips, his massive cock, so big…"

"I think that's enough Delilah."

She completely agreed, though maybe not for the same reason as the man standing next to her. The man, who should not have been there. The man, who couldn't be there.

"I see you are awake."

His smile brought fresh tears to her eyes that fell streaming down her cheeks, "You—you can't be here."

"Can so," he argued.

"But, you're—you're…"

"What? Gone? Taken? Sent to hell?... All of the above?"

It was a stupid joke; a stupid boy stupid joke and she felt stupid for laughing but she couldn't help it. So full of feelings she no longer knew what to feel; the messages were flying off the printer faster than they could be caught and going everywhere.

"Come on now, don't cry," he said, taking one of her near lifeless hands and stirring her emotions into a whole new chaos.

"Harry? Is it really you? Is it really you Harry?"

"Accept no imitations," he said with a roughish grin.

If she'd had the strength, she would have grabbed hold and never let go. "Harry, Harry I, I can't remember…"

He nodded as if he'd expected it. "Poppy said you wouldn't. Holes she said. Holes in the memory. Don't worry, we'll get them filled in."

It was impossible not to believe him; for her it was impossible. He was there, holding her hand, wiping her tears. He was there. Impossibly, he was there.

"Harry. Harry, I need you to tell me something," she said with great urgency.

"What is it?"

"Who am I?"


	12. Chapter 12

Grimdark  
Chapter 12 – Loon of the Moon

…

A buzz of activity; a hive of goings on. She'd never seen so many people in the hospital wing and working so industriously. She, Hermione Granger because that's who she was; Harry had told her.

"Is it always like this Madam Pomphrey?"

The tired old medi-witch wove through spells and Hermione twitched now and again as her unused muscles responded spastically. "Not always," the old woman said. "Our recently returned Mr. Potter has taken a proactive approach to the war and taken Azkaban."

"Really?"

"Taken and leveled," said the man in question.

Hermione beamed with her friends unexpected appearance. The odd rat creature following him was curious, but not enough to distract her from the overwhelming joy that swelled in her breast.

"How are you feeling?"

"I can do this," she said, tilting her hand and wiggling her fingers.

Harry chuckled, "Very good. You'll have a book in those hands before you know it."

"I hope so." While she hadn't 'remembered' who she was; books, those she remembered. "if you happen to pop by the library, I wouldn't object to…"

He laughed aloud at her brazen attempt at being subtle. "I'll see what I can do. I was actually on my way out. Trying to dodge the evil Headmaster."

"Dumbledore?"

"He's upset about Azkaban."

"Upset?" Why would anyone be upset about that horrible place being gone? "Why?"

"I didn't ask for his permission."

"… huh?"

"He's miffed that I'm not treating him with the kowtowing reverence he thinks he's entitled to. You know, undisputed lord of the light."

Well that didn't sound right. Dumbledore was a great wizard; she was sure she remembered this. He wouldn't act like that, but Harry said he was, but he shouldn't…

"Oh," she moaned as she tried to square the circle of conflicting understanding.

"I wouldn't worry your pretty head about it," he said, placing a paternal kiss on her forehead that filled her with feelings totally inappropriate to have for a paternal figure. "I'll see you when I get back."

"Where are you going?"

"They call it, The Fun House. Should be a good time," he said, striding masterfully from the room. "Hello Patience."

A startled "eep!" and the clang of bedpans made Hermione wish she had the strength to sit up. "What was that all about?"

…

She heard the first scream some twenty minutes earlier but thought nothing of it at the time. It wasn't uncommon to hear screaming in The Fun House, but this turned out to be different. The screaming hadn't stopped.

Whoever had let out the first scream doubtless had; there'd been a wet gurgle at the end which seemed like it would make screaming difficult. But then others had started; more and more with every passing minute. As some died, others jumped in to carry the melody.

Her roommate appeared barely interested. Not much got Emmeline's attention lately. It was the baby. It was taking all her attention, so she had none left for anything else. Greedy little blighter; a Goyle if she was not mistaken.

She turned to look at the stairs when a soggy splorch at the top signaled the end of the choir recital. She wondered if applause would be appropriate.

The sound of footsteps gave her pause and she decided to wait. If they seemed personable, she might inquire on the relevance of applause. If it was her boyfriend, the answer was almost certainly no.

The long dark figure that sauntered down the stairs was not her boyfriend. Neither was the large rat with the human head clamped at the end of its long, cord like tail. He seemed nice though.

"It would appear their information was correct master," said the rat creature.

"Your methods are outstanding as always Stromboli. I never doubted," said the long dark man, surveying the room with sparkling emerald eyes.

Unsurprisingly he spotted Emmeline first; they always did, hanging chained to the wall, naked as a jaybird. She didn't like to be judgmental but certain behaviors just stank of a desperate need for attention.

"Is she alive?"

The rat crept near, standing on its hind legs like a proper man, but one that had forgotten his hat and cane. "She breathes. There is life in the body."

This appeared sufficient for the man; running a hand across her cheek, "Anyone home?'

Silly, not to say knock, knock first, but poor desperate Emmeline, she played along anyway.

"Kill me."

"Beg pardon?"

"Kill—me," she repeated, straining feebly against her chains as she tried to look up at the person addressing her; it was only polite.

"Madam, that may not be necessary," the man said calmly. "I am fully capable, prepared in fact, to take you away from this place."

There was something in the smooth, even timbre she found inexplicably alluring. A confident power that heated her cheeks and prickled her nipples. Emmeline did not appear to share the sensation.

"Kill me," she begged, breaking out the waterworks when it looked like he'd say no. "I can't—I can't live with it. They've filled me with their bastards for so long, I, I can't, I don't…"

She fell to incoherent sobbing when words failed to materialize. The man lifted her weight off the chains that held her up and she cried into his shoulder, "Kill me, please."

Gently stoking her hair, he looked to the rat, "Stromboli, take her."

Quick as a whip, the rats tail snapped out, dropping the head it had carried to attach to a new one. She tensed, untensed, stood up on her own two feet.

"Anything?" the man asked.

"Little," said the rat. "She has been here many years, a toy for them. Seven births. She is pregnant even now."

"Anything useful?"

The rat shook his head. "Her mind is barely there. Her memories, an amalgamated blur of men and pain."

"I shouldn't be surprised," he sighed. "Be kind to her Stromboli. Grant her wish."

The tail twisted sharply; a painful crack. The noise was so sudden she couldn't help the startled yelp that leapt from her lips. As Emmeline fell lifeless to the floor, the man turned his emerald eyes to her.

She felt them like a physical thing. Again, the feelings surged; burning cheeks, prickles in the nipples, and now the wild hares were loose in her chest.

"Do pardon," the man said, leaning against the bars, "didn't see you back here. You were so quiet."

"My boyfriend says that's what I should be when he's not around." It was good that he'd told her too. She used to spend all that time crying.

"Your, boyfriend?"

She nodded.

"He wouldn't have been one of those blokes upstairs?"

"I'm not sure. I haven't seen him today."

"Maybe you could tell me what he looks like."

"Oh no, that wouldn't help. He's always changing what he looks like."

"That so?"

"Oh yes. He rarely looks the same twice. Sometimes he can't make up his mind and comes to see me as two or three people all at once."

"Really."

"Oh yes. It's always difficult when he does that. I never know which one to look at and he hates it when I don't look at him. He has to punish my bottom."

"Does he now?"

"Oh yes. It's a very naughty bottom. It demands punishment, all the time."

"All the time?"

She nodded; there was just no way around it. As far as naughty went, her bottom was without equal. There was no other explanation. And it didn't matter how much it was punished, it just never learned. And some people thought it wasn't easy being green.

"I wonder; what do they call you?"

"Whore."

"Whore?"

"Sometimes Slut. They used to call me Bitch but I think they decided Slut and Whore were better."

The man smiled; it looked like a patient smile. "Why don't we try this. What did your mother call you?"

"I can't really remember. She died when I was very young." She'd been very sad back then. Back then she didn't have a boyfriend.

"What about your father, what did he call you?"

"Rutabaga."

"… rutabaga?'

"Or Turnip." He always was silly, her daddy.

"Perhaps I should just have asked for your name?"

"Why? Don't you have one?" She'd been right. It was a patient smile; still there.

"Pretend I don't for a second."

"Alright."

"… what's your name?"

"Luna, Lovegood."

"Love good?"

She nodded.

"And do you?"

"I like to think so."

He considered her silently for a moment; during which those damn hares got sauced and started bounding around like only a drunken rabbit could.

Coming to some sort of conclusion he told her, "Miss Lovegood, I believe I must regrettably inform you your boyfriend has died most tragically."

"Oh." Well poo. On the other hand, "Would you be my boyfriend?"

"Would you like that?"

She was almost certain she would. Her nipples seemed to think so. "Do you have a big cock?" Best to ask before she got too invested.

"Compared to what?"

That was a good question.

"Perhaps we can discuss it later," he said. Something flashed, faster than her eye could follow, and the bars of her room fell to the floor. "Shall we go?"

"Our first date already?" Things were moving so fast. "But I'm really not dressed for it."

"I'm sure we'll make do," he said, smile still calmly sitting there in absolutely no hurry.

She hardly knew what to say. Her old boyfriend had never taken her anywhere. So utterly flummoxed, someone in the plumbing department threw up his hands and said, "Fuck it!" before going off to get plastered, leaving a leak to start between her legs.

The leg operators must have joined the plumbing guy because when she tried to stand it wound up a miserable failure, more a flop than anything else, but it was enough for her bottom to start bleeding again. Naughty bottom.

"Now that doesn't look good."

Uh oh, he was displeased. "I guess you'll need to punish it." There was just no way around it.

"No, I don't think so." She'd barely time to squeak in surprise before she was up in his arms, pressed against his chest. "Clearly it hasn't worked so far. I think we'll try a different approach."

"We are done, master?" The rat queried.

Her boyfriend nodded, "We are. Burn it down."


	13. Chapter 13

Grimdark  
Chapter 13 – So much Plotting

…

Control. It was a thing Albus Dumbledore had spent most of his life chasing. The world was so chaotic; people so unpredictable. You could walk down a street and be stabbed, shot, spit on or fall down an inexplicable hole for no good reason at all. It just happened, and there was not a thing you could do about it.

Sadly, he discovered the greater universe was never something he could control; that inexplicable hole would appear where and when it wished despite any man's desires to the contrary. People though; people could be controlled.

There was a trick to it of course as his old friend Gellert had shown him, and if that backfired, well, there was a reason he was famous for stopping his one-time friend.

It was easier if you started young. Even the most cynical child was still naïve. They thought they were going their way, doing what they wanted; they were almost always wrong. Dumbledore knew; he knew how to control children. Even the rebellious one's had danced to the tune he played.

Exceptions of course, did pop up. Tom had been one. Despite his youth, the boy who would become a dark lord was no child when Albus first met him. Cunning and cruel, he sought the same thing as Dumbledore, control.

He understood, like Dumbledore, how to control people. His methods were different, based in fear rather than awe and respect, but the end game was the same. Control. In all his life, the only person he could not control was Tom. That was, until they brought Harry back.

As a boy he had run the last Potter; smooth as a well-tuned clock. Somewhere in the intervening years, a monkey with a wrench had come in and torn his clock apart to build an auto. He hated autos. Couldn't make heads or tales of the blasted things, just like this new Harry.

It was like talking to a completely different person; or several different people. Dumbledore had believed him when he said he wouldn't leave the castle after the Prestwick incident; right up until the survivors from Azkaban had started pouring in.

He sat stewing in his office for hours, waiting for his return and the explanation he would demand. Instead the boy walked in playing deaf, claiming he'd been standing too close when they blew the island to rubble.

He hadn't believed it; even when his second-rate spy Ron Weasley told him it was true he hadn't believed it. Seeing it for himself almost hadn't been enough either, but it was hard to argue with the rubble; what little hadn't already sunk back into the sea.

Inconceivable. This was not how things were supposed to be going. He brought Harry back so they could reclaim Britain, not burn it down. His latest raid of The Fun House was particularly galling in that regard.

Thirty-seven wizards butchered. All those lives just thrown away, and if that wasn't enough; a witch; a pregnant witch, murdered in cold blood.

"She did ask me to," he had the nerve to say, as if that somehow absolved him.

You didn't just kill people because they asked you. What sort of backward thinking was that? He was loathed to admit, even to himself, he lost his temper. He shouted; raged and railed, guilted and shamed and every trick he knew.

And somehow, the boy walked out with a smile and a wave like they'd just had a pleasant conversation. It took him twenty minutes after the fact to realize something had not gone to plan.

He played the conversation over in his mind several times and when that failed, he pulled out his pensive. Nothing; somehow the encounter had progressed organically and ended with Harry leaving with a smile and a wave.

But how? No matter how many times he watched it he couldn't figure out how. The only thing he was certain of is that he hadn't been spelled; which he would have preferred. That at least would have made sense.

He needed to think, have a lemon sherbet. Things were moving to fast, slipping from his control. Summoning Harry had been a mistake, that much was evident, but he couldn't put that kneazle back in the bag. He needed to force an encounter, get that damn prophecy fulfilled then clean up whatever was left over.

But how to do it? Think man, think! Control; he needed more control.

…

Control; he needed more control. His sphincter was quivering like a freshman prom date and threatening to be just as big a mess if he couldn't keep it under control.

It wasn't fair. It was supposed to be his day off. He'd gone to The Fun House for a good time and arrived to find the building engulfed in a roaring blaze.

Stumbling over himself getting away from it he choked, the heat was so intense and he'd apparated close to the entrance. It felt as though his lungs were scorched; no such luck.

Knowing not what else to do he'd contacted the aurors who arrived, about as well as he had. The first thing they did was take him in for questioning, which struck him as quite pointless since he didn't know anything, and when that became apparent, they let him go.

He wished they hadn't. He'd been summoned shortly after. The Fun House was a death eater run establishment, for death eaters by death eaters. As a card-carrying member (yes there was a card; It was black) it was his duty to report.

He hadn't been too worried, expecting to pass on what little he knew to a slightly senior member of the party and be on his way. Imagine his surprise when he arrived at Malfoy Manor to be told the dark lord was waiting.

The Dark Lord. What! Why?

The dark lord didn't micromanage his underling's affairs. Why would the dark lord be interested in some brothel burning down? All these things he wanted to scream at the stone-faced manservant; only one thought stopping him.

The dark lord was waiting; for him. The dark lord did not like to wait. Those that made him were not known for their good health or long lifespans.

He hurried after the manservant, a necessary position after the elves had been purged. His sphincter made dire threats with every step, but he fought it. He was not going to walk into the dark lord's presence dripping from his trousers.

He'd prefer not walk into the dark lord's presence at all but that was not something he had any control over.

The doors swung open with ominous silence. Sphincter clenched; he walked through. The room was empty of the usual hangers on that liked to be seen near the dark lord. He wasn't sure if this boded well or ill.

The man himself sat in his darkly ostentatious throne, flanked by his most vicious servants; Lestrange and her six-inch steel heels, and the rabid dog Greyback. This did not bode well. The sight of the partially disgraced Lucius Malfoy gave no hint either way; not so strange to see him hanging around; was his house after all.

He knelt at the dark lord's feet and waited. It wasn't long, "Speak."

He told them everything he'd told the aurors, careful to omit nothing, or say anything that might even suggest disloyalty. Speaking to the dark lord was kind of like juggling chainsaws; you never wanted to do it and you only got to slip up once.

Falling silent, he waited. His knees ached and his ass was cramping but he'd not been dismissed. You didn't walk out on the dark lord without being dismissed.

"This is disturbing," the dark lord hissed.

"Never thought Dumbledore had it in him," Greyback snarled.

"Don't be stupid," screeched Lestrange. "Dumbledore ain't got the balls for this."

"Indeed," said the dark lord. "It would seem the Azkaban incident was not an isolated event, which would imply we have a new player in the game."

"The French you think? Maybe the Germans."

"The frogs don't have the stomach for this fight, and the Germans are still too busy apologizing for that Hitler muggle."

"Regardless. Someone has thrown down the gauntlet. It would behoove us to respond."

"Shall we increase security around the abomination camps?" asked Malfoy.

"Hmm, it may be best to dispose of them, but the new moon is more than a month away. Yes, increase security, and inform the others to be wary. Until we meet this new enemy there is no way to know what they will do."

He left the dark lord's presence with all his body parts, yet he couldn't help feeling he was still in danger, his sphincter hadn't decided.

He'd survived the meeting, that was good. Someone was attacking them, that was not good. That was in fact very not good. He'd never been in a fight with someone who was willing to kill him. He'd never been in a fight at all. He wasn't a fighter and he proved that when the manservant reappearing startled him, and he lost the fight with his sphincter, all over the Persian rug.

"Well, shit!"


	14. Chapter 14

Grimdark  
Chapter 14 – Flowers and fangs

…

"Do you think they'll start kissing soon?"

"Uh…" of all things she feared they'd start doing, kissing was not at the top of the list.

She wasn't even sure how it started. She had her nose happily in a book when Fleur came in. She was older, more hard edged than Hermione remembered. She said something to Delilah who was sitting watch over her, something that made her feel warm and fuzzy in weird places.

Words were exchanged, some of them angry sounding. She pulled her nose out of Standard Book of Spells just as Delilah shoved her considerable bosom against the French girls and proceeded to glare.

Fleur seemed to have her beat in terms of intensity, the hard angles of her face lent a ferocity to her face the smooth lines of the succubus' lacked. She made up for this by sheer demonic strangeness; golden eyes and obsidian horns providing sufficient intimidation to cow most who lacked such attributes themselves.

Most did not include Fleur, and the encounter looked like it might explode, literally, but for the sudden appearance of Harry to distract them, or at least serve as a barrier.

"Ladies. Good evening. Fleur, lovely to see you."

The French woman did not seem to agree, "You will not think so when I am done."

"Are you making threats, girl?"

Small flames sprouted from the succubus horns and her tail whipped about angrily. Fleur responded by summoning a ball of fire in her hands and cursing something very rude in French.

"Well that's no good. They'll never kiss like that," Luna opined.

Hermione did not disagree, though to say she agreed with the, very, uh, unique girl, would not have been entirely accurate either.

Ultimately it didn't matter because Harry put his food down. Literally. The slight movement had a disproportionate effect; shaking the floor and the air with a ripple of power that made Hermione's heart skip, or maybe hopscotch.

The two it was directed at showed a far more powerful reaction. Delilah took a single retreating step, threw back her head and gasped before sinking to the floor with a stupid grin on her face. Fleur stared like the proverbial deer in the headlights, hugging herself as she shivered uncontrollably.

There was fear in her eyes when Harry reached out his hand but her legs, clamped together at the knees, refused to move. A gentle caress across her cheek, and her eyes rolled back; startled yelps as her body shook.

He caught her as she pitched forward and she clung to him panting.

"Someone was all pent up," he remarked casually.

"You—bastard," she cursed when she could form words again.

"Now, now my pretty flower. Is that really how you want to talk to me when you've come to ask for my help."

"How—how did you know?"

Hermione wondered that as well.

Luna didn't. "Why else would you be looking for him?" she said. "Unless you wanted him to be your boyfriend too. I wouldn't blame you really."

…

Blame; that was entirely his, Fleur thought. Attacking Azkaban, The Fun House; she'd heard he wanted to get attention; he had succeeded.

"There are a hundred thirty-seven. Men, women and children. Mostly children."

The camp was named simply A1. There had been an A2 some years back, but that had been emptied out, just as A1 was soon set to be. One hundred thirty-seven lives fed to the ever-growing power of the enemy.

"They've increased security. There are twice as many guards as last week."

"You've counted?"

"I 'entertain' them twice a week. There were many unfamiliar faces."

"Hmm," was all he said.

Just hmm, not, how do you entertain them; what do you mean entertain; or, how did you see their faces with their cocks in your mouth? No, just, hmm. She forcibly restrained her mouth from grinding her teeth.

Of course, he would not need to ask. Fleur knew what a succubus was; what a succubus was for. A man who kept such a creature so close; a man who could turn her brain to pudding with a mere flash of his power wouldn't need to inquire about 'entertainment'.

The mere thought of that power left her fidgety, which made her angry. Now was no time for such things. They were hidden behind the tree line observing the gate; already on the mission. If they could have been any deeper into enemy territory, they'd have to be on the other side of the high walls with the barbed wire garland on top.

If one were to compare it to other famous camps, they would find the similarities startling. As a child, her father had taken Fleur to Auschwitz; the old death camps held a certain place in his mind at all times.

Not because he'd ever been in one, but because of the nature of his children and the rhetoric of the day concerning their kind. "It is our responsibility, as good people, to make sure 'this' never happens again," he'd said.

They'd failed. She was only glad her father wasn't alive to see it. The architect hadn't been original; rather than take a page, he'd taken the whole book from the monster who'd engineered the final solution. There were a few magic twists but otherwise it was the same sort of despair filled fortress as the Germans.

"You have a way in?" he asked.

She resisted asking, "Why don't you just knock down the wall?" But only just. She feared he might actually do it, and she did need his help.

"I know the guard on duty. I can deal with him."

"I'll follow your lead."

She shot him a disbelieving look to which he merely smiled. He was mocking her; damn him. But she needed his help.

Marching out alone; she modified her gate to more of a prance, contorting her face into a bubbly, vapid smile. By the time she was spotted, she was a completely different person, on the outside.

"Who goes there?" the man in the guard house demanded.

"Jacob!" she squealed, fearless of the danger she was in.

"Fleur?" he lowered his wand. "What are you doing here?"

She had his guard down, now she just had to close the distance. "I was lonely," she said in her best timid waif, dribbling it with a bit of honey for good measure.

The haze of lust clouding his eyes was practically visible in the dark. His tongue ran across lips suddenly, inexplicably dry. "Well, I, uh, I could..."

"What the hell are you doing!"

The angry screech marched out of the darkness, closely followed by an angry looking witch. Damn! She wasn't prepared for that.

"Mildred! I was uh…" he stammered, lacking enough blood to run the big head as it had all been headed for the little one.

"Who the hell is this?" she demanded, not waiting for him to shift his brain back into gear.

"Uh, dis, dis, ah, Fleur! Fleur, this is Fleur. She, uh, entertains the boys." His face was nearly glowing red when he explained her purpose. Unsurprising, most women detested that sort of 'entertainment'. This witch with her disgusted glare was not unique.

"Stupid little whore," she cursed. "Go on, get lost."

Not for you; ugly bitch. She had to think of something, stall! "No. I do not want to." Play the obstinate bimbo. A battle between women rarely came to violence.

"Oh, is that so. Little French tart doesn't want to."

The wand came out faster than she could see, and her own was still tucked away out of reach. Shit! She'd misread this witch, underestimated her vitriol. Her last mistake, if that 'ah' was followed by a 'va'.

It wasn't, much to her surprise. What followed was a strangled choke, kind of a 'hurkle', as a single hand wrapped around her throat and squeezed. Panic set in immediately; arms flailing at the gripping appendage forcing closed her breathing tube.

The grip tightened and she was lifted off the ground, dangling helplessly.

"Impossible."

"Not really."

He seemed to just appear, silent as death. It sent a racing sensation down her spine which she did her best to conceal as he kept talking. "The body naturally inhibits itself to prevent injury," he said conversationally. "Take that away and it's amazing what you can do, right Stromboli?"

"Indeed, my lord!"

Her hands flew to her mouth to catch the scream that was born out of the sight of the giant rat creature with the cord like tail hooked into the back of Jacob's head. It wasn't that she feared rats, any more than most women, but by Merlin, just the size of the thing was enough to get the voice box working.

"Break her neck Stromboli. We don't have time to play."

With a nod, the controlled man raised his other hand and gave a sharp jerk of the witch's neck. Her struggles ceased and she hung lifeless as an old ragdoll.

"Shall I put her in the box?"

He nodded, "Make it look natural. They may not bother checking if she just looks asleep."

"Yes, my lord."

"Fleur, are you alright?"

No, she damn well was not alright. She'd just seen someone murdered in cold blood. How could she possibly be alright?

Because, "I'm fine. We need to hurry," innocent lives were on the line. She could be horrified later.

"Stromboli, camouflage."

With undeniable fascination she watched the rat shrink itself to a more normal rat sized then climb stealthily down the back of Jacob's coat. The man offered his hand.

"Your escort, my lady."

Reluctantly she took the offered hand, "Where will you be?"

"Close," he assured her. "Show me where they are being held."

Without waiting for reply, he disappeared, and they slipped into the camp. She had no idea what he meant by 'close', so she was left to guess, guiding while looking to be guided past each of the five storehouses; that's what they were called.

Muggle born weren't seen as human; unworthy of even the most meager courtesy. The third one they passed had a single light on; the sounds of female anguish vibrating the window. They walked on quickly.

Coming to the last, she led her escort to the wall where he 'forced' her against it like a lust filled maniac. "Where is he?" she hissed as chapped lips nibbled feebly around her neck.

"I am here."

Voice only she assumed, not bothering to look. "How will we get them out?"

"I have a few ideas."

Good, because she didn't. She'd been casing the place for years and never found a good way to get them all out. She had ways of sneaking one or two, but that was not going to work here.

The sound of voices threw another kink in things and Fleur was forced to get into character till they passed, or worse, stopped to watch.

Worse became worst when they came around the corner and she caught sight of that shock of ginger hair. Her blood turned to ice before flash boiling to lava.

"Bill." The name escaped her lips before she could stop it, and the man looked at her. Recognition dawning, he smiled; overlarge canines glinting in the moonlight.

"Well look at this," he chuckled. "Fleur. How are you? Eating well?"

The question was meant to provoke her. It succeeded.

Hurling the listless bulk of Jacob off, she went for her wand. It was stowed for discretion, not ease of access but the beast made no move to stop her. He stood there watching her fight her wand free, then once she had it pointed at him, he moved.

She was slammed back against the wall, one hand on her throat, the other firmly gripping her wand. "Oh Fleur, I have missed our little tussles," he said with the leer of a man entirely confident in his position. "Such a feisty lover. It's good to see you haven't lost that, right boys?"

The two behind him laughed; laughed and leered. They knew what came next as well as she did. Or so they thought.

One learned how wrong they were when something gripped his head, twisted, and pulled. The vampire turned to ash with such treatment, the head flaking away like dandruff in the hands of the forgotten Jacob.

Bill came out of his shock first, "Kill him!"

The other vampire lunged, then inexplicably fell to pieces, turning to ash before they even hit the ground.

"Sorry, I was just getting tired of waiting for you all."

Bill looked up, and Fleur pressed her advantage with a hard, left kick. The vampire was not immune to pain; falling back he scrambled away from her. She tried to cast but coughed through her spell, giving him time to run.

"Bastard!" Not about to lose her one chance at vengeance she ran after him. All thoughts of her mission or being caught forgotten, shoved behind the single overwhelming desire for murder.

He was fast but she knew the campgrounds well and was able to cut him off several times, losing sight of him for only seconds. Infuriatingly quick, he kept up the chase and her lungs began to burn at the prolonged exertion. Magic users were not marathon runners.

A sense of elation filled her when he ran down what she knew to be a dead end. She approached slowly, cautiously, smugly. She'd wanted this for years and she was going to savor it.

The sweet taste became ash in her mouth when she lobbed a fireball and the illusion faded to mist and vapor. She'd only enough time to realize what had happened when two strong arms wrapped around her like the coils of an anaconda.

"Silly little flower, what were you chasing?"

An illusion. Somewhere in the chase he had swapped out with a fake, letting her run 'him' down, think she'd won, before pulling the rug out. There was a spike pit under there; sharp points caressing her neck drew goose flesh that honked in protest beneath his iron coil grip.

"You—bastard," she wheezed, damning herself for being so stupid, and damning the world for taking away her one reason to live.

He would drink her, kill her if she was lucky or turn her so he could continue playing with her. Either way it was over, she'd lost.

She hadn't cried in many years; she hadn't thought she'd any tears left to cry. But she did, and they ran down her face as he breathed against her neck, his fangs pressed against her tender flesh.

"There you are."

Several things happened all at once, too fast for her tumultuous mind to follow. The iron grip that held her slackened and vanished; the pressure against her neck receded; a metallic 'shing' echoed in her ear.

When thought caught up with the world she turned and found the hot ash that, once upon a time had been the man she loved, and the shimmering green eyes of a man she'd once been fool enough to call a 'leetle boy' staring through her.

"Fleur, are you alright?"

What a stupid question. What an idiotic, moronic, imbecilic stupid question. Why would he ask such a stupid question? What response did he expect?

"No," she said, and fell to her knees sobbing.


	15. Chapter 15

Grimdark  
Chapter 15 – Beautiful and broken

…

"Please, for the love of all that is good and descent, no more!"

"Why?"

"Can't you talk about something else besides—that!"

"You mean cock?"

Hermione groaned and hid her face in her book; Standard book of spells, vol. 3.

"Really darling, you need to relax," said Delilah. The succubus sat on one side of her bed while Luna lay, bottom up, in the bed on the other. The two had been conversing over her which she normally could have ignored, if not for the subject matter.

"I just don't see what is so fascinating about—the male genitalia." Nope, using the most clinical terminology didn't make it sound any less dirty.

"Lots of things," said Luna. "And they come in so many interesting shapes and sizes."

"Ugh," Merlin she needed to get out of this bed; anything to get her away from the cock maniac.

"I've always found the bumpy ones to be especially nice; they rub in all the fun places."

The cock maniac and the sex fiend. "Please, PLEASE! Can we not talk about penises for ten seconds?"

"Okay."

"Really?"

Luna smiled a guileless smile and nodded. Delilah just shrugged, but it was enough. Hermione released the tense breath she'd been holding and calmly went back to her book.

Ten seconds later, "I like cock."

Dammit! Should have known the little loon would take her literally.

"I like dick."

"Grr!"

"Stick it in the pussy."

"Disappearing trick."

"Smack it on the bottom."

"Oo, that's nice."

"Shove it down the pie hole."

"Careful not to bite."

"For the love of Merlin, enough!"

"Aw," Luna whined in disappointment, "but we didn't even get to the bit about tentacles."

"Now there's a subject worthy of poetry," Delilah nodded sagely.

"And what subject might that be?"

She tensed when Dumbledore magically materialized; or she just happened to notice he was standing there. Damn people and their sneaky feet.

"I do apologize if I was interrupting."

"Not at all," said Delilah.

"We were just talking," added Luna.

"Yes, I see. What about, pray tell?"

"Cock."

"Tentacles."

"Ugh!"

"I—see."

Would it be rude to claim she didn't know them? It probably would. But was that really a good reason not to do it? Hmm.

As she sat there pondering, Dumbledore found his footing and resumed his forward momentum. "On a completely unrelated topic," he said, "have any of you seen Mr. Potter of late."

"He went camping."

"Camping?"

Leave it to Luna to tell the truth yet make absolutely no sense, "Camp A1," said Hermione. "Fleur asked him." If asking involved a lot of angry accusations and demands he 'take responsibility'; whatever that was supposed to mean.

"You are sure it was A1?" He seemed upset when she nodded in the affirmative.

"My master goes forth as liberator to the oppressed," Delilah declared smugly which did nothing to ease his apprehension, quite the contrary.

"Yes, well, I um—would you excuse me."

The three of them watched the elder wizard hustle out of the room; curiosity hung heavy in his absence.

"Am I the only one who thought that run was awfully gay?" said Delilah.

"It did seem like he was trying to hold something between his cheeks. I bet he's a bottom," said Luna.

"Ugh," said Hermione. What would it take for just a few moments of peace?

…

Peace; when all your work is done that's what you're supposed to find, right? Then why, why couldn't she find it?

A1 was burning as they fled into the night. The job was done, no thanks to her. The prisoners were safe, no thanks to her. Everything she'd set out to do had been accomplished; yet, the satisfaction she thought she should feel wasn't there.

Her feet beat the hard, cold earth as she chased after the green-eyed devil that called itself Harry Potter. It was him, and his subordinates that had done it all. He had saved the muggle born prisoners; burned the camp to the ground. He had saved her life when her own foolishness had given her into the hands of her enemy.

Now she followed him; unknowing and uncaring of why. A hole had formed where the satisfaction should have gone. Deep, black, the void devoured her ability to care. She ran for lack of anything better. She followed him because he was there to follow.

Nothing mattered anymore, apathy wrapped round her like a smothering cloak. Time and space concurred, moving in ways she would have found strange if she could give a damn. They came upon a small village where no small village should have been. She knew this countryside. There wasn't a village for days, yet here it was.

It was bleak, abandoned; hardly a surprise. Much of Britain looked like this. They came to a house, snuck inside. No remark was made upon their intrusion. Nothing and no one had lived there in some time if the cobwebs were any indication.

"How bout a cup of tea?" he said.

She didn't respond which didn't appear to bother him. While he noisily busied himself in the kitchen, she sat on the musty old couch and stared at the mantle over the fireplace. The pictures were obscured by dirt and grime but something of what once was occasionally peaked out despite the oppression of grit and time.

She couldn't tell what was under it all with her eyes, but her mind knew. It was life beneath all that filth, a life lived; a life remembered.

"Tea's ready."

The hot cup was placed in her hands; she barely noticed. She was far from that place, far from then. A casual voice called her back.

"You seem to have a lot on your mind my dear. Care to talk about it?"

She stared at him blankly. This green-eyed demon, this smiling devil; what did he want from her?

"You knew Bill Weasley I gather?"

Know him! "I was married to him."

"Rough divorce?"

"Must you be glib?"

He shrugged, sipped his tea and waited. Waited as she fell, fell through time to a different place. A happier place.

"I went to work at Gringotts after the tournament; after you disappeared. We met briefly that day of the final task, but we didn't really get to know each other till I started work at the bank.

"He was roguish, charming, and most importantly, completely immune to my allure. You can't imagine what that was like, finally meeting someone who saw through the haze, to the person beneath.

"We fell in love, married. The wedding was an absolute disaster. It was one of the biggest attacks in the early days of the war. We were lucky to survive. Many didn't.

"They were dark days. Everyone was afraid, but we had each other, and then, we had her, Victoire; our little baby girl. She was perfect. We were so happy.

"Then, they found us. William's wards were better than most, but not enough to stop them. It was the vampires they sent after us. We fought them, killed many, but not enough. We were taken; I thought William was killed.

"They threw Victoire and I into a small cell and left us there for weeks. They gave us enough food not to die, but we were always hungry. She cried so much but there was nothing I could do to ease her pain. I was tired, weak, and scared.

"Then one day they came into the cell; they beat me and took her. I tried to fight but I had no strength left. I lay there aching for days. Every time one of them came to the door I demanded to know where they'd taken her. They just laughed.

"One day they came, I demanded, and they told me, 'you will be together soon.' Then they placed a tray of meat on the floor and left. The smell alone nearly drove me mad. I fell on it like a crazed beast, all sense of pride or decorum forgotten.

"Hours later the door opened; I thought I was dreaming. It was him, my William; alive and whole. I cried like a baby and he held me so gently; told me everything would be alright.

"He took me from my cell to a beautiful table covered in food. He sat me at the head where the main dish waited. I was giddy, confused, but above all relieved. My William was there; everything would be alright.

"He removed the cover, and my heart shattered. It was her, our baby girl. Her head, anyway, made up like a roast pig. 'What's the matter', he said. 'Don't you like it. You seemed to enjoy it earlier.'

"Seeing his fangs glint in the candlelight as he smiled that wicked smile did not hurt as much as knowing—knowing what I had done. The realization that I—I had, eaten, my own child."

His hand gently stroked her hair as she spoke. She didn't know when he had moved, or how long he'd been there. It didn't matter. It was enough that he was there. The last time she had felt this pain there was no one to hold her.

Tears came, rivers of rage, and she buried her face in his chest screaming like a hundred banshees. It hurt, worse now even than then. Then there had been anger to distract. Now it was gone, they were gone. "Everything I loved; everyone I ever loved is gone. Damn them. Damn them all!"

Sanity slipped like fine silk between her fingers and she howled her pain till she'd nothing left. No strength, no will, no desire to carry on anymore. "I want to die. Please, please just let me die."

Devoid of strength, her begging was a pitiful plea. Laying exhausted on the couch she watched him stare at her thoughtfully, like he was actually considering killing her.

"Please—please."

"But I don't want you to die," he said. "Although—I wonder."

Tilting back his head, he opened his mouth wide, wider than humanly possible, and reached a hand down his throat; returning a moment later with what looked like a wand.

"Knew this would come in handy," he remarked, taking it in both hands and snapping it in two.

Tossing aside one end, he removed the core before tossing aside the other. The feather was brilliant red and orange, and he methodically broke it into tiny bits which he crumpled in one hand.

A large blade appeared and cut a gash across the palm of the other, pooling blood with surprising speed.

"Life is a strange thing," he said, calmly bringing both hands together. "Death too is strange, strangely similar to life." Pressing his palms together he rubbed them back and forth as though rolling a ball of dough. An accurate description as the thing he displayed when he was finished was in fact a ball, a small red ball. "Do you want it?"

"What is it?" and why should she want it?

"You wish to die. I do not wish for you to die. This will satisfy us both."

"How?" They seemed to her to be mutually exclusive.

"It will take away your pain, your suffering. No more hurt, no more tears. You can finally have what you want, peace."

Peace? Was that what she wanted? The ball sat in his hand, glinting, mesmerizing. It will take away your pain. No more hurt, he said. Did she want that; Yes, she wanted that. She'd been carrying it for so long; she'd been hurting for so long. No more.

The orb slid down her throat like a bitter pill. It had barely reached her stomach when she began to feel its effects. Burning; everything was burning. Her skin felt like it would combust, then it did.

Fear overruled apathy and she cried, "What's happening!"

"Exactly what you wanted," he said calmly as she wailed in agony. "I told you death was strange, but don't worry, it'll be over quickly."

Liar, she thought. Time had no meaning to this level of suffering. Pain stretched seconds like cheap rubber bands, eternity in a single moment. Objectively he was right though. It was only a few seconds before the final flash; exploding in flame, setting the whole house on fire with her magnificent conflagration.


	16. Chapter 16

Grimdark  
Chapter 16 – Fear the moon

…

There was something about babies; no one knows what, though theories abound; it was a thing that turned even the most sour of women into saccharine imbeciles.

"Oh, she's so cute!"

It was ridiculous from an intellectual perspective; they were squashy little grubs with tiny faces and an appetite that never seemed sated. NEVER sated.

"Oh, someone's hungry."

Outside of consumption what else did they do but sleep. The laziest cat in the world would marvel at their lethargic powers.

"Aw, someone's a sleepy head."

All of this combined gave no explanation to the strange power they held. One squawk was all it took for all their wants to be fulfilled. It was only fortunate they lacked the intelligence to utilize this power fully. One dark lord at a time, thank you.

"I want one."

…

She remembered being the center of attention, liking it. Answering the question, beaming under the teachers praise and smugly looking down on all the dumdums. Holding the baby was nothing like that, though she was still the center of attention, by proxy.

"Have you ever seen anything more adorable?" Lavender squealed.

"So precious," Patience agreed.

It wasn't that she disagreed with them. The child in her arms was cute as a button, but all that cooing and giggling coming her direction was really beginning to grind her gears.

Little Flower was oblivious to this, happily burbling and chewing her toes as everyone watched. Yes, Little Flower was the name he'd tacked to her. Hermione sincerely hoped it was just a place holder till he could think of something better. If not, she was going to give that boy such a scolding.

"Where did Harry say he found her?" Lavender asked, tickling her belly for a happy squeal.

"He didn't," which worried her. She trusted her friend not to steal a baby, but then where had she come from. And where was Fleur.

He hadn't answered when she'd asked. "Her pain is gone now," implied much, but confirmed nothing. She hesitated in pressing him though; afraid of what he might say, what the terrible truth might be. Looking at the tiny blonde cherub pawing at her chest only reinforce that notion.

It was a strange sensation, fearing knowledge. She never had before, she didn't think. But then, everything had been strange since she woke up.

"Looks like someone's hungry."

"Harry!" four voices exclaimed; for four different reasons.

"Ba!" said a fifth, just not to be left out.

"How's my favorite girl?" Said favorite girl giggled and squealed as her 'daddy' threw her up in the air, nuzzled faces, and chuckled when she decided to chew on his ear. "I feel like this is some sort of hint," he said to the amusement of all; even Patience laughed.

"Such intuitive thinking will make you a passable father Mr. Potter," said Madam Pomphrey, bustling up, bottle in hand.

"Just passable?" he said, handing off the hungry grub to her new favorite person.

"You want better, I suggest finding the mother."

"Does it have to be her mother," he said, shooting poor, blushing Patience a look that turned her head into a ripe tomato.

"Iieeeeeeee, uh, I have to um…" the girl stammered as she scooted around Harry and fled.

"I'm wearing her down."

Luna and Lavender giggled, but Hermione was much too proper for such silliness. "Must you tease her?"

"It's a terrible conflict, she can't hope to win," remarked Luna.

"Huh?" That was Lavender, who hadn't spent enough time around Luna to know when to ignore her.

"To your question Hermione; I tease because I'm interested. If I weren't, I wouldn't bother."

"You know Ron's after her too I think?" said Lavender.

"Mm. Speaking of Ron. Anyone know why he was skulking out in the hall. I saw him peering round the door and when I asked, he just babbled something and scampered off."

The two girls shook their heads, but Hermione found herself caught by a half-formed thought. It was dark; it filled her with fear. Her head began to ache. Make it stop. Harry!

"Hermione!"

"Huh?" she returned to the present and Harry's face inches from hers.

"Are you alright?"

Was she? "Yes, yes, I'm fine, I just…" She just what?

"You spaced out for a second."

"Down the dark and dreary hole. Black, black is the space," said Luna, giving her a look that was more lucid than she was comfortable with.

"I'm fine, really."

"If you're sure."

She wasn't. "Where's Delilah? I haven't seen her today."

"She's returned to Infernum to check on some things. She'll be back in a few days."

"Oh." Damn. Out of anyone she knew the succubus was the most likely to know what had just happened, and if it were likely to happen again.

"You miss your girlfriend Hermione?"

"What!" His accusation caught her totally unprepared; not because she'd never thought about that sort of thing, but because she had. The feelings the succubus caused with her coddling were not of the platonic sort and she didn't know how to deal with that.

She babbled denials till she saw the prat grinned and realized she'd been had. "Why you!"

She wasn't strong enough to actually throttle him, but he was too busy laughing to try and stop her; sending them both tumbling off the bed. Landing on the floor she fell on top of him and scowled as hard as she could.

Her legs weren't strong enough to stand and her arms, feebly trying to choke the chuckling jackass were of no assistance either.

"Need some help there?"

With Lavender's assistance she returned to her bed but never stopped scowling at Harry. He seemed to find that funny; ass!

"Well that will do," said Madam Pomphrey. "It's getting late. Anyone not spending the night, shoo."

Still chuckling, Harry threw one arm around Lavender, "I guess that's us."

"Guess so."

The two strode from the wing with Hermione scowling at their backs. "That boy."

"Is trying to set you up with his lieutenant."

"Luna!" Hermione exclaimed, but Luna wasn't looking at her.

"It's a scary moon tonight," she said. "So big, so full. I wonder what he'll do."

"What?" What was she talking about? How could a moon be scary? And why was Madam Pomphrey looking so nervous all of a sudden?

…

"I'm glad we brought you back Harry," said Lavender as she and he meandered down the hall.

"Aw, you mean that?"

"I do," she laughed. "I know we were never close in school but; I don't know, I was really glad to see you in that circle."

"You mean see me naked."

Lavender grinned, "That was nice too." Lavender was not like Patience; never had been. From a relatively young age she'd been sneaking magazines filled with hunky half naked men into Hogwarts. Parvati had been simply scandalized and ever so eager to show her sister.

She missed Parvati, and Padma, Susan, Hanna; she missed all of them. The war had taken so many people for no good reason, and things never seemed to get any better.

She found herself leaning into Harry; his firmness, strength, there was comfort there. Comfort in those strong arms she'd seen tear the head off a creature four times his size and punt into a wall. Some would have found such an idea repelling.

She felt safe. When you live in a world that's as good as hell, the safest place to be is at the back of the guy who could rip the head off something four times his size.

"I wish we'd brought you back sooner," she said.

"I don't," he replied. "I was in the middle of a very involved campaign until recently."

"Sounds dreadful," she said noncommittally, snuggling further into his shoulder.

"Don't fall asleep on me."

"What if I did?"

"You'd wake up in a strange broom cupboard wondering what happened."

"Nu uh!" she laughed. "I'd know exactly what happened. So, which broom cupboard would you like?"

"Why Miss Brown, are you trying to seduce me?" he asked, positively aghast; the ham.

Fluttering her eyelashes and pouting her lips, "Yes."

"Well, alright then."

His simple acceptance sent her into peals of laughter. It wasn't really that funny, but she'd so little reason to laugh for too long, some part of her insisted that yes, it was that funny, and she felt no desire to argue.

As she was beginning to seriously consider the broom cupboard, something in her pocket began to ring. Her good mood evaporated into dread at the sight of the old pocket watch with the big silver face. "Five minutes. Damn!"

"What's that?"

"Uh…" what did she tell him? What could she tell him? Nothing, there wasn't time. "Harry, I'm really sorry, but, but I have to go."

Not giving him a chance to protest she ran. Cursing herself for being so careless, she ran. She should have been there already. She knew better that to cut it this close; but the baby, and then Harry.

She'd been feeling so good she'd completely forgotten. She'd pay for that; she could feel it as she neared her special room. Her hands ached as she slid the watch into its special slot and the door closed behind her with a reechoing boom.

The pain was horrendous; it always was, but tonight it hit with a focused intent. The beast screamed for control; her own mind buried beneath the pain of transformation. She'd been through this hell dozens of times since she was turned. Nothing surprised her anymore.

So, she was incredibly surprised when she came back to herself, lying on the floor and feeling like deaths reheated leftovers.

"What," she whispered hoarsely through painful parched lips.

"What indeed." Emerging from the shadows he knelt beside her, "Ello Lav."

"Harry? Wha—what happened?"

"Why didn't you tell me you were a werewolf?"

Because I forgot; seemed like a stupid answer, even if it was technically true.

"What happened?"

Sparing an explanation, he pointed to a strange, pale creature bound in chains with a large knife at the end hovering like a snake.

"Your demon," he said. "I've seen their kind before. Symbiotes of a sort."

"That's my—you took it…"

"Took it out? Yes."

"How?"

"Surprised it."

There was a lot of cheek in his grin, more than enough for her to want to slap it right off his face; if only she could raise her arm.

"Why do I feel—feel…"

"Like you're dying?"

"Yes."

"Because you are."

"Huh!" The sudden shock sent pain rippling through her body; doing nothing to assuage her sudden rising panic.

"She was born inside of you. Your souls are intimately intertwined. One cannot live without the other."

"So—so I'm going to die?"

"If I don't put her back, yes."

If he didn't put her back; the demon that made her a monster. If he didn't put her back, they would both die. Never again would she become an indiscriminate murder machine. Yet, on the other hand. "I don't want to die," she wept, bitter tears; loathing her own weakness, cowardice.

A gentle hand wiped her tears and she looked to see him smiling, "How fortuitous princess, because I don't want you to die either. Blade!"

Reaching his hand toward the chained demon, the blade turned to him and cut a line across his palm. "There's just one thing I need you to do for me Lavender."

"What?"

"Submit."

"Huh?"

"Domination is the name of the game," he explained. "The weak submit to the strong, and the strong protect the weak."

"Do it," the demon hissed. "Please, we must."

"We?" That's right, it wasn't just her life. "I'll be a werewolf again?"

"Subordinate to me," he said, "and I will make everything better."

"Everything better?" It sounded good, too good to be true. But, and it was a big but, as she gazed into those deep green eyes, she felt herself believing it could be true. She wanted it to be true, so badly she refused to even think that it wasn't.

"If you wanted to be on top, all you had to do was ask."

Harry chuckled, "Sassy girl. I like that. Well?"

"I—I submit." Saying it out loud sounded dirty, like she was giving him her body. Actually, in a way that was exactly what she was doing. Still sounded dirty.

He turned his cupped hand over her mouth turning her lips red with his blood as it trickled down her throat. Leaning close he whispered something in her hear; it was harsh, guttural, she didn't understand it, yet she felt as though it had been forcibly stamped on her brain.

"What was that?" she asked as heat washed over her body.

"Her name," he said, indicating the demon. "With that knowledge, 'you' will be in control."

"Control?" Dare she believe it.

"That's right," he said, picking up the demon and smearing his blood across its pale muzzle. "Now, to put you two back together."

A touch of fear gripped her as he approached. Then there was no thought, only pain.


	17. Chapter 17

Grimdark  
Chapter 17 – Princess on the town

…

Pink; pink was how she felt. Pink was how she looked, which hadn't been easy. Almost everything she owned now was black, and black was definitely not the new pink.

She pranced down the hall, prancing being a thing she hadn't done in a long time, but she felt like doing now. Prancing, singing, jumping to the ceiling, she wanted to do it all. She was skipping when she entered the hospital wing. Little Flower was lying in her basinet between Hermione and Luna; she squealed when she pranced up.

"Lavender?"

"Hiee!"

"What—what happened?"

"Something wonderful," she said, beaming a smile so bright as to shame the sun,

She could barely contain her overflowing exuberance. Her ears twitched excitedly, and her tail swished back and forth like a rabid, manic feather duster. Little Flower found it all quite amusing, giggling and squealing when she picked her up and began licking her face.

"She's tasting the baby," Luna remarked dryly.

"Luna!" Hermione chastised.

"Mm, buttercups."

"Lavender!"

It was hard not to laugh, which is why they did. She was just so serious.

"What'd I miss?"

Her ears perked; she knew that voice. Her tail picked up speed as she turned and found him, green eyes glinting with mischief. "Master," she nearly swooned, but couldn't cuz she was holding the baby.

"Hello Princess." She whined affectionately as he patted her head and scratched behind her ears. So much better than swooning if her shaking foot and fuzzy brain were any indication.

Little Flower was thrilled, squealing in delight and sticking out her tongue, trying to imitate Lavenders as it lolled from her mouth.

"I think you broke her brain," said Hermione.

"You think so?" His scratching stopped and the switch flipped.

Lavender shook her head, "What happened?" Why were they laughing?

"Harry," said Hermione, holding out her arms expectantly.

"What? Does Hermione want up?"

"Yes, she does."

Leaning over, Hermione wrapped her arms around him, and he lifted her into a standing position. She squealed when her feet touched the floor which made Little Flower squeal as well.

"Cold," she complained, hanging off him like a bushy haired scarf.

"Touch your feet to mine," he said.

Something black, like liquid tar slid from his shoes and took form over Hermione's feet. This time when she touched the ground there was a pair of black slippers between her and the cold stone floor.

"On her own two feet again," said Harry.

"Yes, well eek! Mostly," she said, gripping Harry as her weak legs began to shake.

"Getting there." He helped her to sit and Lavender set Little Flower next to her.

Deciding she should stand too, the baby rolled onto her tummy and set about giving her best effort; using Hermione as a climbing post she managed to get almost vertical before tipping over, kerflop, back onto the bed.

"She's growing so fast. It's, it's not normal," said Hermione as Little Flower rolled back onto her front for another attempt.

"They do at that age," said Harry.

"And what age is that precisely?" said Hermione.

"That age."

Little Flower laughed at Hermione's scowl.

"She has a lot of time to make up," said Luna.

"Speaking of time," said Harry, before Hermione could, "we need to get going."

"We?"

"Princess and I are going on a little hunting trip."

"Oh?"

"We found a bad doggy," said Lavender, draping herself across Harry, tail wagging.

"Come again?"

"One of my subordinates got a lead on Fenrir Greyback. And since he is the one that gave Princess the bite, I thought it time she returned the favor."

Hermione seemed nervous at the prospect, but Luna was in full support. "Bad dog, no biscuit."

…

Nighttime was a time; the time when all the wicked things came out to have a time; quite a time. Fenrir Greyback had always considered himself a wicked creature, even before he was a werewolf.

"Come on bitch!" His newest pet was not like him, although she was a werewolf.

She whimpered when he tugged her leash but knew better than to struggle. He was the alpha. Pity, he liked it when they fought back. Might be time to throw this bitch to the boys and find a new toy to play with.

He walked the evening streets like they belonged to him. The full moon had just passed, and he was still riled. He wouldn't turn, but the beast was baying in his blood. A short tether held him from violence; a short tether and the lack of a worthwhile target.

A faint sound prickled his ear and he stopped, cocking his head, "You hear that?"

"Hear what?" she said stupidly. Useless bitch.

It came again, louder. Giggling; someone was giggling. Female if he was right. He looked at the bitch on her leash, quivering. Definitely not.

Again it came, louder. "Who's there!"

The giggling increased. Was she laughing at him? "Who's there? Come out, come out."

Nothing; nothing but more giggling. The sound echoed the empty streets, constantly changing direction. It was either magic or she was stupidly fast. "What's a matter darlin? Too shy to come out and say hello?"

"Aren't we full of ourselves."

The bitch yelped when he turned, snarling. The man was dressed in all black from his shoes to his hair making him hard to see in the dark. The most visible part was the eyes, bright green, eerily shining.

"Who the hell are you?" the werewolf growled.

"That's not important," the man said.

Greyback disagreed, but the chained blade that flew from his sleeve cut him off. Hovering like a serpent, he had the distinct impression it was sizing him up, like a predator does; like he often did.

Lying flat on the ground, the chain curved, and the man sat on the makeshift chair, utterly unconcerned. This dismissal raised the wolf's hackles. "You got a lot a guts boy."

"True," he said. "But it doesn't take a lot of guts to do this."

"Welp!" he snapped. "Think you can insult me and get away with it!" Violence, on the shortest tether, awaited his response.

"You have a very short temper," he said, an amused smile fraying the tether. "Ah well. I'm not really here for you Fenrir. Princess has claim on your sorry hide."

'Who's Princess' was just queuing up to his tongue when a fist out of nowhere sledgehammered his skull. (Little known fact, this sort of incident is exactly why wrists were invented. Studies show fists from good homes are less likely to sledgehammer a skull than those out of places like nowhere.)

The big male werewolf hit the ground rolling; head ringing like Big Ben at noon. He got up slowly, cursing murder at whatever troll just sucker punched him. What he saw was no troll. They weren't big enough.

What he saw was much too small, and pink, and blonde to be a troll. "Hello big daddy."

Big daddy growled at the two grinning girls; smacking himself in the head frightened away the extra and he was left with one grinning pink blonde. "Who the bloody hell are you?"

"You don't remember me! Aw, I'm so sad," she said like an overacting drama student. "Big bad alpha has a new bitch every full moon, can't remember every little girl whose life he ruined."

"So, you're one a mine, huh?" He had no trouble believing it. He'd done more to spawn his kind than any werewolf in history, he like to think. "Have to teach you some proper respect…"

He hadn't advanced a full step when the open hand caught him across the face. Claws like daggers tore through his cheek, splashing crimson lines down the street.

Pain became fury; fury overwhelmed his rational brain and the beast took over. The beast was proud, unable to tolerate insult and it replied to assault in kind. Claws tore horrid gashes across pale soft flesh. Cloth tore like spiderwebs as they ripped at each other. Blood splattered over the street and ran down bodies in gory rivers.

The Fenrir beast shoved the female away and stood panting. His whole body was red; skin hung in tattered flaps exposing all beneath. Any other kind of man would have been dead; without assistance he'd be healing for weeks.

Both the beast and the man gaped watching 'her' wounds vanish before their eyes like so much smoke.

"Impossible."

She was still covered in blood; her clothes hung in tatters, scandalous apparel, but her flesh was whole; new and pink and flawless.

"What are you?"

She smiled, a toothy smile, "What you only wish you could be."

Her smile grew as mouth became muzzle. Limbs lengthened and fur raced across her naked flesh. Fenrir watched in fascinated horror, the transformation. She was enormous; easily twice his size with eyes that glowed vile, yellow death.

The beast within screamed but the sound never made it out his mouth. Claws, once like daggers, now as swords ripped out his throat before starting in on the rest of him. Blood flew rather than fall, painting the walls and anything unfortunate enough to be within ten feet of the ripping, tearing carnage.

…

She came back to herself abruptly, staring at the mess she'd made. The wolf reveled in this sort of slaughter, and Lavender had been dreaming of this day for years. She just didn't realize it was going to be so, gooey. Ew!

"Done?"

Melting back to her new normal size, she pranced over to Harry, beaming. "I made a mess."

"Quite the show," he said, looking her over, "quite the show."

She detected hidden meaning, looked down to discover the tragic fate of her outfit, "Oh." She was bouncing all over the place. Only one thing for it, "Shopping?" she chirped, batting her eyes and wagging her tail.

Her master laughed at her audacity, "Why not. A night on the town. But what do we do with this one?"

Greyback's female, kneeling at Harry's feet, recoiled at the sudden attention. It pinged an instinct, one of the protective sort. "You could fix her, like you fixed me."

"I don't do charity Princess."

"Not charity," she insisted. "Like me. She could serve you, like me."

"Trying to build your own pack, Princess?" he said, smiling playfully.

"Pack?" She hadn't thought of that. There were other werewolves, others like this one. What would they give to get what Lavender had? She smiled, tail wagging, "Yes, I'll make a pack, and you can be the alpha."

He sighed when she expressed her exuberance at the idea, forgetting she was basically naked and not really caring anyway. His shirt felt so silky against her nipples. "The things I do for you Princess."


	18. Chapter 18

Grimdark  
Chapter 18 – Vermin alike

…

"You're sure they're in there?"

"I'm sure."

"You're really sure?"

"Really sure."

"… are you sure…"

"Draco! They're in there."

Forcing a deep breath to calm his nerves, Draco glanced over his shoulder to the street below. Of all the places he expected to be on a Saturday night, a dirty old rooftop was not at the top of his list. And of all the people he expected to be spending a Saturday night with, this one wasn't even on the list; which was saying something because Ron was on the list and he hated Ron.

"You seem a little nervous."

"Nah, not really." Why should he be nervous? It's not like he was deep behind enemy lines with a man he'd spent years antagonizing who could kill him as quick as you blink and walk off with none the wiser but the crows. Oh, wait…

"It might be best you stop thinking about all the ways I could murder you," he said without so much as a glance at the person he was speaking to.

"Easier for you to get the drop on me," Draco replied, never taking his eyes off 'him' for a second.

"Draco." Something tapped his shoulder and he was unable to stop the reflexive look. His blood chilled when the chained blade, hovering but an inch from his nose, gave the impression of a wink before slithering into the shadows.

"If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn't waste the time of bringing you all the way out here."

He was right. He knew he was right, but it still took some time to convince his heart; which first had to be shoved from his throat back into his chest where it belonged.

"Why then? Why ask me, of all people. Why ask anyone? I'm sure you could do it yourself."

"A good commander doesn't try to do it all himself. Defeats the purpose, and what does it prove?"

"Commander, huh?" Much as he hated to admit it, his old rival did have an aura about him. "And I suppose that makes me your minion then?"

"Subordinate," he corrected. "Minions are disposable. Cannon fodder. Useful in their way but easily replaced. World's full of minions."

"So, I'm not disposable?" Funny, he didn't feel that way.

"I suppose it remains to be seen. Any death wishes I should know about?"

"If I hadn't seen what you did at Azkaban, I'd think you had one."

Harry chuckled; it wasn't an entirely friendly sound. "Fair enough. We aren't exactly hunting rabbits, are we?"

No, they weren't hunting rabbits. They weren't hunting anything comparable to rabbits. He strongly suspected anyone who'd ever tried to compare Severus Snape to something so innocuous as a rabbit hadn't lived long enough to regret the mistake.

"How did you even find out about this place?" He'd only heard rumors it existed; not anything so substantial as it's location.

"My intelligence network is very good," he said. "But this came from one of my new puppies."

Draco snorted, "Puppies." Funny thing to call a werewolf, unless you tried to do it to his face. That was probably less funny. "Quite the pack you've accumulated in barely a week.'

"Just proves how little the other side values loyalty. Fear is no replacement."

Draco flinched before he could stop himself. His reflexes were all on point tonight, much to his disadvantage.

"Strike a nerve, have I?"

Only three or four. "My circumstances are no secret."

"That you turned traitor to the dark is no secret. Why you did it; that does not appear to be so well known. Not among those I've asked anyway."

"You haven't talked to Ginny then." She knew. She knew everything.

"Busy girl. Blushes a lot whenever she sees me. You know I think she might still fancy me a bit. Couldn't even string a sentence together when we were young; always had her elbow in the butter dish."

"You don't say," Draco growled through gritted teeth.

"Are you always this tense, or am I just pushing all the right buttons?"

Clapping hands with his inner Slytherin, Draco sought the best way to resolve the situation to his advantage. "You're an ass Potter."

So his inner Slytherin had all the subtlety of a Gryffindor. At least the prat was laughing.

"You wouldn't be the first to tell me that," he chuckled. "Usually I just spank her and make some comment about her ass. Would you like me to spank you?"

"NO!"

"So, spankings not your thing, I gotcha. What about Ginny?"

"Never mind." Like he was going to tell this fiend what a naughty thing his girlfriend was; how much she needed a good hard spanking.

"I think you're being very close minded about all this."

"Stay away from her!" It was stupid bravado to think he could order 'this' man around, but anything involving Ginny had the potential to make him act very stupid.

Killing curse green eyes penetrated his bravado; the dark chuckle echoed in his head, a cold, sinister quake. "So that's your lever."

"My what?"

"The thing I pull, to make you go. Everyone has one, usually several. But there's always one, bigger than the rest, stronger. She could get you to do anything I bet."

She could; she had. There was no way he'd admit it, but his silence felt awfully chatty for not actually saying anything.

"Fine," he said sourly. He knew when he'd been beat, and to say he had been beat felt something of an understatement.

"Don't feel too bad," he said. "I've been giving Dumbledore the run around since I got here. You never really stood a chance."

He had, hadn't he? "How have you managed that anyway?"

"By understanding him. I understand how he thinks, how he thinks of me. I give him what he thinks he wants, and I use that to lead him wherever I want him to go."

"You know you sound like a dark lord," Draco said jokingly.

"Who says I'm not?" said Harry seriously. "The thing that makes old, what's his face, an untenable overlord is his ideology, not his methods. Barbaric as they may be, people have lived, even thrived under worse.

"It's the ideology that's the stumbling block. Clinging to the old at the expense of the new. Order enforced at the edge of a knife is still order, and too much order will eventually kill any civilization through lethargy. If you're not moving forward, you're losing ground."

"Quite the philosophy," said Draco when Harry finished.

"It's served me well so far."

"Hasn't his too?"

"It only looks like it," said Harry. "And so long as all of you remained to oppose him, it would continue to look that way."

"How's that?"

"Common enemy. So long as there's someone that all of them can hate, they're united. Take that away, and all their petty gripes with each other become intolerable offenses. Without us to fight, they'd destroy each other."

It was a radical idea; your existence is the only thing keeping your enemy from destroying itself. "Do you think he knows?"

"Probably. He didn't get this far by being stupid."

"Why do you think he got this far? Why do it all?" It was a question that plagued him even before he turned. Why? Why the Dark Lord Voldemort?

"He had something to prove. To himself most likely. That sort of insecurity can do terrible things to a person. Am I right?"

"Cheap shot!" he scowled. "I'm always proving myself, to everyone," except her. "It's never enough, but I still keep doing it."

"Terrible, isn't it?" he said. "Don't worry, I'll only need you to do it once."

"Really?" Yeah right.

"You doubt, but its true. Because when you prove yourself to me Draco, you'll do it, with blood. His blood."

A quick glance over his shoulder revealed their quarry had appeared. Dark, morose, and greasy as he'd ever. He wore a satisfied smile which curled into a grimace when the other man appeared.

"Well, well."

"What's he doing here?"

Harry chuckled, "Granting a wish I didn't know I had."

That Pettigrew was the true traitor of the Potters was well known among his old circle. Blacks kamikaze run at Malfoy manor was still being whispered about the last time he was there. "What do we do?"

"Let them walk a bit," he said. "Don't want to fight too close to that place. No knowing who else might be in there. Hang on."

A hand gripped his shoulder and he was suddenly enveloped in darkness. They reappeared in an alley with a clear view of the two walking up the street.

"Wait till they reach that next alley. Get their attention, I'll even the odds; then Snape's all yours. Try not to die."

It was with that vote of confidence Draco stepped into the street, waited till they were in the right place, then called out, "Severus Snape!"

His old teacher stopped; turned, presenting a look of well-practiced disdain. The look of surprise was not so well practiced as evidenced by how quickly he removed it. "Draco."

Rarely had he heard his name spoken with such disdain. It hardened his resolve. "Traitor."

The greasy old man snorted, "You have the gall to say that to me?"

"Mouthy boy," Pettigrew added, since no one asked.

Ignoring the rat, "I won't ask how you found me, but I must know what you planned on doing. Has consorting with Gryffindors for so long finally stifled the last bit of Slytherin in you? What did you think you would do alone?"

"You are alone." What was meant to be a statement flirted heavily with a question. Not unsurprising from someone so vacillating as Pettigrew; who never noticed the chain snaking around his leg.

"As a matter of fact, no."

On tug brought the stumpy wizard to the ground and, screaming like a dying old woman, he was yanked into the dark shrouded alley.

Snape tried to look unconcerned, but the cracks were there if you knew where to look. It was around the eyes mostly.

"Now it's just you and me godfather."

"And what is your intent?" he said, calmly drawing his wand.

"To kill you."

"Very well. Let this be your final lesson."

…

Darkness; darkness everywhere. It was all around him; above, below, on every side, even inside which was normal but under the circumstances only added to his terror.

"Peter."

"Wha! Who's there!" It was speaking to him. The darkness was speaking to him. Usually it didn't do that till he was halfway to totally blitzed; and he hadn't a drop all day.

"Peter."

"No! No, no, no, I can't hear you."

"Yes, you can."

"No, I can't." When in doubt, deny, deny, deny. It was rule by which he lived. And when that didn't work, RUN!

"I wouldn't go that way."

Turned out there wasn't far to go. His nose broke against the wall with an agonizing crunch; which wasn't really saying much since he found stubbing his toe agonizing.

"Told you."

"Oh, shut up!" He wouldn't normally respond so bravely to a voice in the darkness, but having his nose broken had temporarily short circuited his overworked fear module.

He drew his wand with his free hand and desperately sought something to curse. "Where are you? Show yourself!"

The fear module abruptly came back online, and his wand clattered to the ground when his demands were answered.

"Peter."

"No," it couldn't be. "No," it just couldn't. "Yu—you're…" dead. You're dead. You can't be here because you're dead. The words formed in his brain, but his tongue refused to speak them. Filthy, traitorous thing, it threw out one it hadn't in years, "James?"

The messy haired apparition shook his head; removing his glasses, "Guess again."

He did. He guessed right, and he squealed in absolute terror. This one was supposed to be worse than dead. "Harry!"

"You remember me. How embarrassing. I'd almost forgotten about you."

Why didn't you, he wanted to shout, but the stare of those killing curse green eyes had stolen his voice.

"Really just the strangest luck you being here tonight. We were only after Snape, but then there you were. How could I pass up such an opportunity?"

"You could," he squeaked, flinching at the laugh he received in reply.

"Oh Peter, such a funny man. I see why my father liked you. I bet my other friends will like you too. Can you hear them Peter?"

"Hear?" what was he supposed to hear?

Chittering. It was faint at first but grew louder quickly. "What is that?"

"Really Peter, such a question. You should recognize this noise, you make it. Not in this quantity I suppose."

Millions; millions of eyes; tiny red jewels glinting out of the shadows.

"Rats!" Millions of rats, inky black with ivory teeth; chewing, gnawing, gnashing teeth.

"No—please!"

"You know the funny thing about black rats Peter? They are by far the most vicious, most brutal of their kind. And you know rats Peter; they have a really nasty streak, a nasty cannibal streak."

"No. No! NO!"

Pain; pain like he'd never felt swarmed over him in a wave of inky black. Flesh fell away before teeth that could chew through stone. Rats, rats everywhere; ripping, tearing, burrowing.

Death, sweet death. Where are you now? Even as the rats ripped through his beating heart, spraying black with red, he did not die. Lungs, liver, kidneys; chewed to pieces as he lay there feeling every second of it.

Release finally came when the world shook, and the feasting swarm fled.

"That doesn't sound good. Ah well, goodbye Peter."

Death, sweet death. Here I come. Wait! James, Lily, Sirius, Remus; what're you… Oh no, no, NO!


	19. Chapter 19

Grimdark  
Chapter 19 – I know what you know

…

It was throbbing; his head was throbbing. That stupid boy, stupid street, stupid muggles and their stupid gas mains. It was some sort of karma, had to be. Wizards had used the gas main excuse since they were first installed. Sooner or later it had to come back and bite them in the arse.

Of course, it would be his arse that felt the teeth.

"Ugh, where am I?" And why did he taste healing potion?

"Somewhere you probably never expected to be again."

The voice, familiar, was annoyingly vague, but it gave him something to focus on that was not his throbbing head or extra crispy skin. "Who are you?"

"What a dunderhead question."

The once potion's professor snorted disdain then instantly regretted it. Deep friend nostrils were not meant to do that. "You think that's a hint. Most of the students I ever taught were dunderheads and I was never inhibited in telling them."

"No doubt," the voice replied; the gentle sound of steps suggesting movement in the darkness. "But I was different, special. You said so yourself. You certainly treated me like I was special, reminded me every chance you got. One might even go so far as to say I was your favorite dunderhead."

A traitorous chill crept across his crispy skin. It hurt like hell and made his heart pound all the harder. It couldn't be; it just couldn't. "Awfully a high opinion of yourself."

"Just like my father."

Shadows fled before flickering candlelight and there he stood. Wrapped in clothes as dark as silky midnight, he was the spitting image of his father; till he turned and revealed his face. It was close, but the differences were not inconsequential. The sharper edges in the lines, the jaw, the eyes. Oh, those eyes.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer."

The snark was definitely reminiscent of his father, but the delivery was off. It was cold, mirthless, lacking the arrogance that had always defined James Potter in his mind.

"You're alive."

"As are you."

"How?"

"Me or you?"

"Both."

The cold, neutral face cracked a slight smirk. "You don't ask much." Placing the candelabra on the table he considered his prisoner, much a as a cat considers a mouse in a terrarium. A crispy half cooked mouse. "I suppose the answer to both is actually the same."

"And what is that?" he insisted testily when his captor paused too long.

"Me. I'm alive because I'm me. You're alive because I decided not to finish what Draco, or whoever blew up that street started."

It was hard to remember who threw the spell that did it. The duel had been fast and intense. Even if MC Hammer wasn't dancing all over his cranium, he couldn't have been sure.

"So, he's dead then?"

"Who?"

"Draco!" he snarled, gritting his teeth when his skin split and began to bleed.

"No. I still have uses for him; and you."

There was that shiver again. It hurt less this time but that may have just been distraction. "Dumbledore would never…"

"Dumbledore does not know you are here," the green-eyed devil interjected. "No one does, and no one will."

More ominous words he had never heard spoken. "So what will it be then, torture? How the noble have fallen."

He tried to sneer but his face wouldn't cooperate. The damn boy wouldn't cooperate either; standing there grinning like he'd just heard a joke rather than been insulted to his face.

"Amazing. You are really trying to take the moral high ground. You! That is just—I, I can't…"

Severus hated being laughed at; hated it even more when they tied him up first, and yes, he did have enough previous experience to make the distinction. His blood boiled, fury raged inside like a mad bull, but outside none of this showed.

Severus hated being laughed at, but in the laugh that filled the room was something cold, maliciously cold. Like a blizzard over a frozen tundra it turned his boiling blood to sloppy slush, sent his raging bull clambering for the barn like a frightened calf.

Fear; fear trumped fury. In those evil green eyes, he saw a fate worse than death, and try as he might, he could not look away.

"You think torture is the worst I can do to you?" He had thought that. He was beginning to rethink his position when the devil gestured behind him.

Bound by both rope and injury he could not turn to see the thing slithering behind him. The tendrils that slid softly across his skin made him, for once, grateful. Though this did not stop a morbid curiosity from rearing its hideous double head. "What is it."

"A rare sort of thing in Infernum. I don't think their native, tell the truth. It's a sort of illithid."

Severus had no idea what that was, but the slippery tendrils said it all. "What will it do."

"Take you, out of you."

His expression, pained as it was, must have been comical because the vile beast laughed right in his face. "To be blunt, you know things, many things; things I want to know."

More than you could possibly realize. "So you will steal my knowledge."

"If only it were that efficient. Illithid don't have brains in the same way we do. They have trouble understanding the difference between say, memory, thought, or the function of the bladder."

Realization dawned slowly, dreadfully, like a crimson sunrise.

"Everything that is 'you' from your potion recipes to the way you hold your wand, it will take. It will take till there is nothing left to take and your body ceases to operate due to a complete lack of commands for it to do so."

"NO! No, kill me! Please!" A quick death had to be better than this—violation!

"I could do that. But I won't. I'm not a fan of torture you know, not for its own sake. But this, this serves a purpose. The fact that I'll enjoy watching it is just icing."

"No. Please." Casting aside his dignity, he wept, he begged, he wasted his time as the devil began to laugh.

A strange growl halted him mid cackle. He turned his head attentively into the collar of his shirt. "You're sure? Damn it all."

Giving the captive Snape a look of annoyance, "That is the second time I've been interrupted this evening." Shaking his head, he waved at the illithid, "You know what to do," he said, then stepped into the nearest shadow and vanished.

It was, he thought, a small consolation, being left alone to die. Though the caressing tendrils reminded him, he wasn't really alone. For a demon it was surprisingly tender; even when its tentacles had invaded every available cranial orifice, he barely felt any pain at all.


	20. Chapter 20

Grimdark  
Chapter 20 – Why Ron, why?

…

Pain; the feeling was pain. Groan; the sound was groan. The sight was dark, the smell was wind, and the taste was—purple?

"Why do I taste purple?" was the least pressing question he should have been asking.

His head ached but was surprisingly clear, and he thought back to what he'd been doing. The panic set in almost immediately. He had no memory of how he got from there to here which could only mean he got caught.

That was bad; really bad. He fought his eyes open and surveyed. It was the Astronomy tower. He hadn't been there in years but almost nothing had changed. Had that gargoyle always been there?

"Why'd you do it Ron?"

Ron screamed, scrambling away when the gargoyle spoke. "What—who are you?"

The looming shadow turned its head and Ron shrank back from the glowing green orbs. "Harry!"

"Why Ron?"

"Whawha—why what?"

"You know what."

Yes he did, but he didn't know for sure that his old mate knew, and besides, it was hardly the sort of thing he was about to confess out loud, was it.

"I don't Harry. Why are we up in the Astronomy tower?"

His friend considered him, like an owl on its perch, "I did not wish to be disturbed."

He hopped off the ledge lightly, to Ron his feet sounded like thunder. What could he say? What did Harry know? His mind was backtracking through events trying to figure out what had gone wrong, but he was coming up empty.

His shins hurt, like something had bit him. Had someone left a guard dog? Why couldn't he remember?

"I imagine you're wondering why you can't remember what happened."

Ron choked, "How did you…"

"Your face said it all," he replied, coldly neutral. "You hit your head falling off the bed. Probably a mild concussion. I wouldn't worry about it."

Concussion! But those were supposed to be bad. Quidditch players got those sometimes. He needed medical attention. First, he needed to get on his feet. His head protested, but he made it into a standing position and briefly paused, winded. Something was wrong with his body; everything felt off, heavy, sluggish.

"Why'd you do it Ron?"

"Wha, uh, Harry, I need to go to the hospital wing."

"No Ron, I think one nocturnal visit is enough."

Shit! If Harry knew he was in serious shit. He wasn't looking. His back was fully to Ron as he stared into the cool, somber night. His wand slid from its wrist holster silently into his hand. Lining up his shot, he fired.

What the spell was is of little consequence; it flew just past Harry's head, splashing harmlessly against the stone column. Shocked at his failure he tried again, missing past the other side.

"I wouldn't waste my time, were I you."

But you aren't me, Ron thought petulantly, and tried again, and again. His panic rose with each successive failure, but he never stopped, even when Harry turned around with an impatient scowl, he kept throwing spells and missing.

"Are you quite through Mr. Weasley?"

"Why! Why can't I hit you?" He wasn't ten feet away. A firsty could have hit him.

"Did you really think I would give back your wand without making sure you couldn't use it on me; after what you did?"

"I didn't…" he tried again to deny.

"Fine. If you won't tell me, I'll ask him. Why did he rape Hermione? The first time; the second, third, and ever successive?"

Against his will Ron's mouth opened, and spoke, "She deserved it. She spent months acting jealous whenever I looked at other girls. But then we tried dating; it was okay, but when I wanted sex, she said no. Every time I asked, she said no. I was out there risking my life, but she said no. I got sick of no, so I took it. When I was done, she tried to curse me, so I obliviated her. I messed up.

"After that I used her whenever I felt like it. Not like she was good for anything else."

Ron stood; mouth hung in horror. He didn't want to say any of that; not because it wasn't true, just the opposite. Some things were not meant to be talked about, like things that could get you arrested.

"And what about tonight?"

"Patience is still playing hard to get. It's frustrating. I needed to blow off some steam. I figured I obliviate her again and hope this time she didn't come back."

"I see. Thank you for your honesty."

"But I didn't wanna say any of that," he shouted, discovering he again had control of his mouth, for better or worse.

"I don't doubt," said Harry, "it is quite damning. If I were anyone else, I'd probably kill you on the spot and wash my hands of the whole thing. But I am your friend, despite it all. I even forgive you for trying to spell me just now."

"Really, you mean it?" Relief washed over him like gentle waves at his friend's nod. It addled his mind, to the point he asked, "Why did I keep missing anyway?"

"Same reason you just told me that horrible story. Coil, come out and introduce yourself."

Ron's relief, so recently won, fled at the sigh of his skin bulging in a long spiraling line down his arm. The mouth tried to scream but once again Ron found he had no control of his body; forced to watch the thing burrowing under his flesh as it made for his hand.

He fingers went straight, dropping his wand which hadn't fallen two inches when a narrow white beak caught it. Its head and white rope like body followed as it calmly placed the wand back in its holster before turning to Harry and giving a slight nod, "Master."

Harry returned the nod then turned his attention to Ron who felt seconds away from passing out, "Ron, meet Coil."

"What the bloody hell!"

"If you're going to be shrill you shall not speak at all," the spearheaded creature chastised.

"Now, now. No need for that. You two need to get along. You're going to be together for a very long time."

"What!"

"Tsk, shrill."

"Coil is a sort of parasite you see. He needs a host, that's you."

"Why me? I thought you forgave me?"

"I did," said Harry. "This is why. When I said that, I'd already given you your punishment."

"Bu—but…"

"This host is not bad. A little whiny but bigger than the imp, more dexterous than the hound."

"I'm glad you approve."

"I don't!"

The parasite and his 'friend' looked at him in a way reminiscent of McGonagall. It made him feel very small. "Perhaps we should ask Hermione how she feels." That made him feel even smaller.

"If you'll excuse me, I still have some renovation to do in here."

"What! Reno what? Hey!" His demands fell on deaf ears as his new parasite vanished back into his body. "What is he doing?"

"Rearranging your insides to suit him. Don't worry, it won't kill you. If you become too damaged, you're of no use to him."

"Use to him?"

"Yes. You're a meat puppet now. To him, that's all you are good for."


	21. Chapter 21

Grimdark  
Chapter 21 – Spider queen

…

It was hard to sleep. Bad things came when you were unconscious, or you woke up and found you'd lost entire years sleeping. As much as it distressed her, the body needed sleep. So she tried.

It was not very good; fitful, broken. It went in and out like the tide, but less regular. At the peak of exhaustion, she found something, tingling at the edge of her sense. It was warm and gentle, it hummed sweetly.

Humming; that's what it was. Someone was humming. Someone near. That thought startled her to wakefulness and her eyes shot open; the rest of her body was slower to respond which gave her a moment to assess the situation.

"Did I wake you?"

"Delilah? Delilah!"

The succubus chuckled when she tried to throw herself at the red-skinned demoness and only succeeded in a weak sort of flop.

"Did you miss me?"

Yes! Yes, a million times yes, she screamed in her head. In the real world she was slightly more composed. "I had a really bad night," she sniffled.

"So I heard," she said, gently patting the bushy hair.

"You did?"

"My master has appraised me of the situation. It was fortunate he left those pups to look after you."

"Pups? Oh, the slippers," which weren't actually slippers she'd learned the previous night when they had sprung to life, and her defense with jaws and teeth and frightful fury.

"Useful beasts, shadow dogs. I never go anywhere without mine," she said, stroking the edge of her high leather looking boot. He clearly enjoyed it, looking up with big happy eyes and a lolling tongue.

"I spose so. I just can't imagine wearing slippers everywhere."

"Then don't. They change shape quite easily."

"Huh?" Slippers were out of the question, but a nice pair of sensible shoes, that she could wear. "Well, that'll do I guess," she said, admiring the plain but functional footwear. "Good, um, shoes."

The shadow pups were too young to understand things like insult, but head pats they understood and did their best to reciprocate. This involved licking Hermione's toes which, while affectionate, still tickled her in squeal inducing fashion.

"You mind keeping it down," said Luna in the next bed.

The reminder of the blonde girl's existence made her scowl, "Now this one. I'm still annoyed with you."

"Bout what?" she yawned disinterestedly.

"Last night you lay there while 'that' happened and never said a word."

"I thought your boyfriend had come to visit you," she said. "It would have been rude to interrupt."

"Boyfriend! In the middle of the night? With his hand over my mouth?"

Luna nodded. "My old one used to do that all the time."

This admission left Hermione coming up short a good retort. "You—you really are just mad, aren't you?"

"Probably," she said through a yawn. "Maybe the lord of the badger hutch can get me a hat, then I can be mad as a hatter."

"I'm sure he will if you just ask nicely," said Delilah.

Luna smiled at this notion and was promptly sawing logs into her pillow.

"Speaking of Harry," said Hermione, "where's he gone off to?"

"He's recruiting."

"More werewolves?"

"No, he said something about spiders out in the forest."

…

Why did it have to be spiders? "Harry. This is a bad idea."

"What makes you say that?"

His friend trotted through the bush like they were out for a Sunday stroll. Did he not feel the creeping doom? Did he not hear the things bumping in the dark, and the screams that followed said bumping? He had to see the spiderwebs; they were enormous.

The size of spider needed to weave such a web boggled the mind and chased the other creepy crawlies out the head and down the spine. Unless you were Ron; Ron who had seen them firsthand and didn't need to imagine. The reality was far worse anyway.

They may as well have not been there to Harry. He marched on without concern; leading Ron, quite against his will, to a place he swore he'd never return. "Why are we doing this? What are we doing anyway?" Ron whined.

"Recruiting."

"The spiders?"

"Since the centaurs are gone that has limited my options."

"But, their spiders!"

"The size of horses."

"EXACTLY!"

Harry sighed, a deep exasperated sound, "Coil, how hard is he fighting you?"

"It's mostly the bladder. The rest seems more focused on arguing with you master," said Ron's mouth.

"Gah! What the hell!" shouted Ron, out of Ron's mouth. "Why can he do that?"

"Be glad you're not Snape," said Harry, stopping abruptly. "We're being watched."

Fearful tension boiled into paranoid panic and his head twisted and turned like a chipmunk with a caffeine pill. "Where? What? I don't see it."

"They think they're being sneaky," said Harry, producing his chained knife and casually swinging it in circles.

That didn't make him feel any better. He hated sneaks, unless it was him. Why couldn't they just come out and fight fair, bloody cowards.

'You have a very narrow range of understanding' said the voice in his head. Having it crawl out his back and slither its head up next to his didn't make it any less creepy.

"I hate you," said Ron.

"I love you," said the parasite, giving him a taunting peck on the cheek it wouldn't allow him to escape.

"Later love birds," said Harry. "Their coming."

They leapt from cover like giant flying nets, sailing straight at their intended prey. Ron wailed inside but the only part of his body under his control seemed to be inside his skull; which did not include the muscles needed to wail.

He dodged the flying leap, his body leaning back with a flexibility he didn't know it possessed. The head of the parasite struck out three times like a spear as the spider passed, breaking holes in the underside of the carapace.

The spider bombed its landing, frantically fighting to lift itself only to fail; expiring as its insides ooze out the holes onto the forest detritus.

In the short moments he'd been occupied, Harry had killed two others and bound a third in his chain.

"Bout done there?" he asked.

Under the parasites control, Ron righted himself and approached Harry and the hissing arachnid. The spider went on spitting like a wet cat, mandibles working furiously. The sight of it made Ron's brain queasy.

"It is intelligent?" the parasite asked.

"I have heard them speak," said Harry. "Though only their king, Aragog."

The creature stilled at the name, "You know of Aragog?"

"Indeed," said Harry. "We met once, many years ago. I come to seek an audience with him now."

"Impossible." Was not what it should have said, and it squirmed beneath the stare that treated carapace like wet crackers.

"And pray, why is that impossible?"

"Passed he has," the spider quivered. "Eldest daughter Suragog rules now."

Easing the heat of his stare to below boiling, the spider calmed and Harry silently pondered. Then he began to do it out loud. "Daughter might be better, a female. More levers there, buttons to push. Hmm."

Ron had no idea what Harry was mumbling about, but it sounded like they were still going into the spider nest. Trelawney would have praised his inner eye, as not twenty minutes later they were standing in the middle of the acromantula nest, staring up at the biggest spider he'd ever seen.

Aragog had been a monster but Suragog dwarfed the old king, and it wasn't just the legs; which seemed to reach across the entire nest, but that may have just been fear tilting his perspective.

"Do still your quivering," the parasite complained, but he couldn't.

Dark lords he feared in the way any sane, rational man did, but spiders; there was nothing rational about that fear and therefore no way of reasoning with it. He'd almost peed his pants the last time he stood before a giant spider; if not for the parasite there'd be no 'almost' this time.

"You have much courage seeking me out in my own nest wizard. Much courage, or little intelligence."

Ron was feeling much of the latter.

"I come to offer you a choice, queen of spiders. War rages across the isles but they will not contain it forever. In such a war as this, no one can be neutral."

"We have already turned aside the dark lord on multiple occasions. We will not ally with those who slew Rubeus Hagrid. The one's in the castle never came to seek alliance with us before. Why do you?"

"I do not."

A chittering hiss ran through the assembled crowd, silenced by a single angry sound from Suragog. "Then why do you come?"

"To conquer you."

That got them worked up. This time Suragog made no effort to silence. "You dare!" she shrieked.

"I dare."

It is a noted, if not well understood, phenomenon that a calm voice, properly propelled, can cut through the most clamorous din, like a cold wind through a thin coat. It has also been observed that a huge light show will get everyone's attention.

Spiders scuttled in fear as flames erupted in geysers across dimension. Suragog was crowded off her own web by the thing that slowly rose from the massive hole between worlds. Crouched on arrival it was taller than Suragog. Standing to its full height it tore webs, smashed branches, and generally displaced anything it its way to the highest canopy of the forest.

It only just remained below the topmost branches. From such a height, its gaze felt heavy like anvils as it stared down. Oddly, Ron was still less perturbed by this than the spiders.

"This is Collosor," Harry shouted to the terrified masses. "But one of many who follow me. You mistook me, spider queen, as merely another wizard, but I am a Lord of Infernum. Demonic legions are mine to command. I have but to give the word and Collosor will destroy you and all your kind."

Some would have denied such claims, railed against the arrogance. Suragog, though gripped with terror, proved wiser than those. "What do you want."

"You." The word, spoken with an accusing finger, sounded oddly like doom. "As I have raised my legions in Infernum, I will raise you as my first legion in this world."

The giant spider considered the offer, while Ron tried to figure out just what his friend was playing at. All this talk of lords and legions sounded an awful lot like dark lord stuff.

"So narrow," the parasite commented.

"What must I do?" the queen spider asked.

"Show your submission."

Again, the blade appeared in his hand as he strode fourth to the humbled spider. The blade cut deep, his hand filling with blood. He reached between her mandibles, and the giant spider screamed.

The sound was agony to hear, he could only imagine what it felt like. Legs twitching dug furrows in the earth. Her hard carapace melted like molten black. The enormous spider began to shrink, compacting like dough being folded in on itself. The sight kicked Ron right in the gag reflex; saved from a mess by the parasite. Would you believe he was still not at all grateful?

The nauseating sighted ceased when she was about human size, which is a good comparison as her shape overall had become quite humanish, though not entirely. A thing she proved, revealing her face and giving a horrid shriek.

He wasn't sure if it was the eight eyes, the helmet like carapace or all the sharp teeth but it proved too much for Ron. Fear temporarily overwhelmed the parasite and by the time he regained control, Ron had greatly moistened his trousers.

"Now, is that any way for a queen to behave."

The spider thing fell silent at the rebuke; blinking shyly and worrying her mandibles. Confusion and embarrassment had replaced pain and anger, and she looked up at Harry, which must have been quite a trip, looking 'up' at Harry. She adapted quickly.

"My lord," she whispered reverently.

She took his offered hand and rose on two shaky legs, human legs; in contrast to the four spider like ones hanging from her back.

"How do you feel?"

The question stirred something, and she looked around, curious. "Them. I feel them."

There was a thunderous sound preceding their arrival. Hundreds on hundreds of spiders flooded into the nest, crawling over everything, even each other till there wasn't a bit of space that wasn't covered in carapace.

"Yes, I feel them. My children."

"Impressive," said Harry.

Terrifying, thought Ron, trying, and failing to black out.

"Your legion my lord, may they please you."

Harry smiled at the submissive little spider queen, on her knees before him. "It's a start, but we will need more. You my little queen, will be a busy mother indeed."

An idea seemed to flit through her mind when he gently caressed her mandible and she stammering blushed, "But, my lord—you can't mean—and we, but it's so soon, and I—but I suppose, if you will, I must submit."

What came next is much too graphic to be detailed here. Suffice to say there was much fluid involved, also crying and moaning and things being crammed into places they maybe shouldn't have because she didn't really like it, but he asked so sweetly and it really wasn't that bad and—well, anyway.

All this was too much for Ron who threw up his hands and stormed back to the castle in his soggy trousers as the parasite complained about missing all the good bits.


	22. Chapter 22

Grimdark  
Chapter 22 – New George

…

The hospital wing was feeling very crowded, and for once, this was a good thing. Once necessary extensions had been removed, being they were no longer necessary. There hadn't been a new admittance in weeks that was there more than an hour, and it was all thanks to Harry.

The man himself sat on the floor watching a six-year-old Fleur; because that's who she was and it didn't matter how much he fibbed she knew he was fibbing and was not about to believe him… anyway, where were we?

Oh right, Fleur. Fleur was juggling, fireballs. Normally letting a small child play with fire was cause for concern; the fact she conjured them herself made it a rather moot point. The six-year-old bit was a far greater concern; seeing a she hadn't been there long enough to be one, never mind six.

She'd been growing in literal leaps and bounds; one day she was babbling baby talk, the next she was babbling French, which Hermione could only sort of understand. It was cute and strange and terrifying all at the same time, but most importantly it confirmed something she'd recently begun to suspect.

Harry. That was it.

She had vague memories of the war before her incapacitation, and none of it was good. They were losing; on every level, at every turn. She'd tried getting her parents out of the country, even thought she'd succeeded with her little memory charm, ironically. She'd nearly followed Sirius example when their heads arrived by post owl.

From everything she'd gleaned, thing hadn't improved after she started her Rip Van Winkle. And then, Harry. Harry changed everything. They started winning, started healing; things were getting better.

Watching him dote on his 'Little Flower' it was hard to believe some of the things being said about him in hushed tones. A green-eyed devil, they said. A red scar across the battlefield, baying hounds and gleaming blades.

Well, the hounds she understood; she was wearing a couple of them. And the blade; he had it chasing Fleur around for saying something in French and pretending she wasn't being sassy. But a green-eyed devil? Sure, the eyes were right, but the rest was just completely wrong.

Would a devil have pulled her out of her own mind, or done, whatever it was he'd done to Lavender. It was like second year all over again and people were saying every manner of stupid thing about Harry for no good reason. And yet.

"No! Mercy! Papa!" Fleur screamed as she dangled before him.

"Don't you 'Papa' me you little scamp. You knew this was coming."

Giggling squeals ran up and down the hospital wing as Harry 'disciplined' his precocious princess.

"No! Stop! Papaahahahahahahahaha!"

"This hurts me more than it does you," he declared solemnly.

"Yeah, it looks like it," Lavender giggled, lounging on the next bed beside Luna and, ugh, her hat.

"Dreadful turn of events," said the elephant.

"She'll never make it," cried the giraffe.

"Hang in there," cheered the monkey.

Ugh! It was a ringmaster style top hat with shadowy animals painted on the red silk band like a parade; which moved and talked. It was that last part that was getting on her nerves.

"Didn't you used to do this to Ron, Fred?" said Ginny.

"Only because Bill and Charlie used to do it to us," said Fred quietly, the barest hint of a smile ghosting across his lips.

"He really is a good father," said Patience, totally not using Hermione as a shield from the big scary 'good father'; honestly what was with that girl.

"Have you learned your lesson yet?"

"Yeeeeees!" the precocious penitent princess cried.

"Hmm, I don't know."

"Harry," Hermione chided, stifling the urge to giggle.

"Oh, very well."

Everyone chuckled when the six-year-old was laid on the floor and stayed there, panting and giggling and looking terribly pleased with herself.

"Fatherhood truly is rewarding," said Harry sagely, which was just too much for his audience.

"Really Harry." A devil; yeah right, pull the other one.

"He is torturing the child again?"

Delilah sauntered up to the giggling gaggle, tail swishing. Seeing Fleur on the ground it swished her direction and the squealing began again.

"Noooo!"

Quick as a whip she fled the teasing tail, straight into Hermione where she clung, giggling into her side.

"You two, honestly."

Neither looked penitent, Delilah busily whispering in Harry's ear. "Is it? Excellent. Fred, got a minute?"

"Uh, sure." It was odd seeing the singular twin so quiet and morose. She'd been out when George had been killed; just another thing she was adjusting to.

"Harry! Hold on a sec," called Ginny, chasing after the two.

"Wonder what that's about?" said Lavender.

"Draco," said Luna.

"Again!"

"This woman has no patience," said Delilah, teasing Fleur with a serpent of fire.

Of all the things she was adjusting to, Ginny and Draco was the hardest to wrap her head around. Just how in Merlin's name did that happen?

…

"Harry! Harry, wait up!"

"Yes Ginevra."

"I need to talk to you."

"About?"

Draco, thought Fred. "Draco," said Ginny.

"I believe we already had this talk. I don't know what more you think needs to be said."

"You didn't tell me anything. He'll be back, that's all I got out of our 'talk'."

Uh oh, she had the look. The 'I'm about to tell this stupid prat off' look. She'd been working on it since she was little and only had her brothers to practice on. Her target now was a bit higher.

"Look…" was all she got out before the temperature dropped and she was pinned in place by a piercing green-eyed stare.

"Ginevra," he said, causing her to gasp. "I have said all that need be said. Your cock toy will be returned in due time. Exercise your patience, it's clearly out of shape."

A slow smile slid across Fred's lips as he and Harry walked away from his quivering sister. It almost stretched across his whole face when she broke from her stupor. "He is not my cock toy!"

It was the closest he'd come to laughing in years.

"Something tickling your funny bone there Fred?"

It was trying, "Never seen anyone make her gape like that. Not even Draco."

"Naturally, she's not afraid of any of you. No reason to be. Me on the other hand she's not so sure about. It confuses her instincts; she's not sure whether to jump me or jump away."

"Makes more sense than her thing with Draco."

"Some women just love bad boys. Gives them something to fix."

There was that tickle again, "You mean like neuter?"

"No, no; that's what you want to do to him."

He was right about that. Even if he wasn't a Malfoy, the Weasley brothers had vowed a very thorough 'interview' process. Ron had taken that to mean yell at her every time he caught her with a guy, which simply proved all the brains were handed out before he came along.

"I know she's supposed to be an adult, but she's still my sister," and that meant things; to him anyway.

"Your mother was someone's sister too; that didn't stop your dad from making all of you."

"Ew!" Bastard—funny bastard, but still.

"No, but think about it, all that grunting and thrusting and poof, Let's call it Bill."

"Ugh, no! My eyes! Cannot un-see!" Damn my imagination!

"And if you flip it over and fondle the top, you can get a Charlie."

"No more, haha, Merlin please!"

"I'm pretty sure making a Percy involved some sort of butt plug."

"Haaaaahahahahahahahahaha!" It was too much. Like an insistent puppies' tongue, the tickling at his funny bone overcame, for a moment, the darkness that had hung over him since his brother's death. He laughed and laughed but the dirty bastard just kept going.

"And Ginny, that was when your mom was on top. And I'm pretty sure a Ron involves falling off the bed."

Somewhere in all the screaming he peed his pants which only made him laugh harder.

The bastard was casually leaning against the wall grinning when Fred finally ran out of steam. His ribs ached, his bladder was empty, and yet, he hadn't felt so good in years.

"If you're done making a mess on yourself."

Fighting the urge to giggle, he pulled his wand and did a bit of cleaning. "You're a right bastard Harry Potter; you know that," he grinned.

"I've heard it suggested," he acknowledged, continuing their stroll down the hall. "But enough about me, let's talk about you."

"Me huh?"

"I find a man of your—talents, is being grossly under-utilized in this conflict, and I simply can't stand for it."

"Not sure if follow. Maybe use smaller words."

"Simply put," he said through a cackling grin. "A master of mayhem and misdirection like yourself should have the enemy running in circles like dogs chasing their own tails. Follow?"

"Okay, I hear what you're saying but there's only one of me the—there's only one of me."

And the gloom returned, but Harry did not appear deterred. "Fret not Freddie, let me introduce you to someone with whom you've much in common."

The room they entered was not terribly large and most of it was dominated by a sizable table over which a huge map of the British Isles had been created. Sitting at the table was a lumpy, gray—person? It was roughly human shaped; the proportions were right.

It looked like someone had tried to sculpt a life-sized man and quit less than halfway through.

"This is my Stratego from the second legion. He knows a thing or two about mayhem. Say hello."

The lumpy man offered his—hand, appendage and Fred reluctantly took it, "Uh, nice to meet you. I'm Fred, and you ar…"

The words died in his throat when the gray man transformed, melting into shape and color, a face he never thought he'd see again. "I thought I was Fred," his duplicate said. "But if you're Fred, I must be…"

"George." It couldn't be. He was dead. George was dead but, but…

"You alright there Gred, you look a bit pale, I can count the freckles."

"He—he." A fragile something snapped in Fred's mind. A careful observer would have recognized it as the last thread tying him to reality. "Never better Forge. Never better."

"Harry wants us to do a bit of mayhem," said George.

"Well, if it's for Harry," said Fred.

"How can we say no?"

"I don't think we can."

"Best not to try."

"Probably hurt."

"So, you'll do it then?"

The two turned as one to the not ginger in the room; identical smirks on their identical faces. "Where do we start?"

"Small targets," he said. "We've done little damage to their actual forces; now we change that. Storehouses, hidden cache, anywhere they keep things, hide things. I want you to empty them and level them, in spectacular fashion. Work your way up to the big one."

"What's the big one?"

"Malfoy manor?"

"Bigger," said Harry, taking a green-headed pin and placing it on downtown London. "A certain not-neutral neutral party has much to answer for. I will give them a choice, which they will refuse; and when they do…"

"When they do?"

"When, they, doooooooo?"

Smiling at their enthusiasm, "When they do, we take Gringotts."


	23. Chapter 23

Grimdark  
Chapter 23 – The dragon's bride

…

"How do you feel?"

An interesting question, Draco thought; under the circumstances it could mean so many things. "Tingly. Is that always what it feels like to be summoned?"

"No," said Harry. "It depends a lot on your summoner, their skill, and where you're being summoned from. Word of advice, never let yourself be summoned into Pandemonium. It's like going on a bad acid trip with a pink elephant and an otter named Bob."

Draco blinked, and when that didn't work, he blinked again. "I'll keep that in mind," if only he could wrap his mind around it.

"Good. Now, in the wider sense, how do you feel?"

In the wider sense, "Good." One might even say great if they wished to be over-exuberant. "It's just—strange. I feel good, but, not quite right. I don't know how to explain it."

"You're adjusting," said Harry. "For Lavender it was quick; Suragog as well."

"Who's Suragog?"

A quick explanation had Draco shaking his head, "You've been busy."

"Dark lords don't defeat themselves. Usually."

"I spose not," Draco chuckled.

"And on the subject of recruitment, let's talk about Ginny."

Had anyone been there to observe they would have noted a sudden fluctuation in the temperature. "What about her."

"In a few days we'll be going to Gringotts, I want her with us."

"Is that all?" No, couldn't be. "Have you asked her? I'm sure she'd say yes."

Harry shook his head, "I don't mean go with us, I mean 'with' us; like Lavender, like you."

"You mean you want to have her."

The bladed chain snapped out as his body bulged and he was slammed roughly into the floor, hot steam heaving from his mouth. "I expected you to be difficult," said Harry, gripping the chain which held him like a steel constrictor.

"You, can't, uh, have her," he grunted, fighting the chains grip even while not understanding his own body.

"So possessive," Harry tutted. "Isn't that just like a dragon."

A hard tug sent him into and nearly through a wall. The shock of impact rattled his brain and his swollen form shrank back to normal.

"It's not abnormal for my subordinates to challenge me if they think they can overpower me. You however are at least a hundred years early to even be thinking about it, so don't do it again. Now, back to Ginny."

A sullen growl earned him a kick in the head that rolled him across the room. "Last warning Draco."

"She's mine," he groaned weakly.

"And you, are mine," said Harry. "Which means anything that is yours, is also mine."

Too weak to conjure up any more anger he watched the bastard recline against his chain like a chair. "Why? Why does it have to be her?"

"She's powerful, passionate, she'll make a good subordinate."

"That's all she is to you, cannon fodder?"

"Didn't we have this conversation already," he sighed. "Minions are cannon fodder. And stop sulking. I can't stand the sulking."

"You tell me you're going to take the one thing I care about more than anything in the world, that I can't stop you, and then you tell me not to sulk!"

"Who said I was taking her?"

"Huh?" His eyes felt suddenly too large for his skull; his jaw hung like it had come of its hinge.

"I said what is yours is mine, I didn't say I wanted to take it away. Really Draco, pay attention."

"I—I don't understand."

"Dominion Draco. It's all about rank. You are my subordinate which means anyone subordinate to you is also subordinate to me. Understand? It's simply chain of command."

"So, you mean you want me to, to?"

"Subordinate her," said Harry. "That would be ideal but since you needed so much healing, you're not yet strong enough to express your power in a way to do it properly on your own. You're going to need my help. Shouldn't be hard. She's been asking about you constantly."

"Has she?"

"Rather annoying really."

The idea put a smile on his face and a reggae beat in his heart. "Alright. How do we do it?"

"Well, first you pull that prudish stick out of your ass," said Harry, grinning at his scowl, "then we give her what she wants. The big girl's bad boy, and the little girls dream boy."

"You really think she'll go for that?"

"I think, we do this right, she'll say yes to anything."

…

"Yes! Oh, sweet Merlin yes!"

"Someone's eager."

She'd been waiting all day for this. Ever since he'd snuck up and blown in her ear. Ever since she'd nearly backhanded him till she saw who it was and glommed onto him in a way that would have made her mother perfectly ashamed; if she weren't dead.

"You keep this up I'll start to believe you missed me," he said with that infuriating smirk that always drove her crazy.

"You get those trousers off and I show you what I missed."

Her skirt couldn't go fast enough; clinging, more thoughtful of her shame than she was. The buttons on her shirt were infuriating, doing their job too well for her jittery fingers. It was like her first time all over again and she yelped like a startled virgin when he tore open her shirt, off with her bra, and hungrily attacked her tits like a starving babe with more hair.

"Ah! Oh, Draco, easy," she pleaded, mewling under his ravenous assault.

"Why?"

She didn't really know. Her mind was fuzzy as he played with her roughly. Sensations raced to her overloading brain, drowning her in a sea of ecstasy, and he hadn't even put it in yet. She thought she'd go crazy, when a voice poured ice water down her spine.

"Well what do we have here?"

She squeaked; shamed as she was to admit. She was sure she'd locked the door, but there he was, green eyes glinting like precious stones as he stared at her naked body.

"What decadent debauchery is this?" His grin was teasing, his demeanor relaxed; her head felt it might explode when he said, "So how does a bloke get in on this?"

"Wha?" was he really suggesting? But, Draco would never…

"This one is mine," he said, running a finger across her little nub that had her eyes turning around to check the inside of her head.

"That's fine, I see another one back here."

Warm hands parted her cheeks, and something gently knocked at the back door. "No, that's myeeeeeee!"

Something slid inside and her whole body clamped down; neurons firing at rapid speed, receptors crossing, uncrossing and turning into pretzels. She was feeling so much, she didn't know if it was pleasure or pain, only that she didn't want it to stop.

Someone really needed to make the line more clear because the confusion was giving the receivers in her brain stress ulcers. It didn't help when he slipped the second finger in and started dancing around her insides as Draco continued to work her buttons on the front.

It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. They weren't just driving her mad, they were trying to kill her. A body was not meant to feel so much. And what was worse, the bastards were talking to her as her brain was turning to mush.

"Are you having fun Ginny?"

She whimpered something like an affirmative response. Actual words were beyond her.

"Do you want it Ginny?"

"I bet you do."

"Give in."

"Submit."

"Tell us yes, Ginny."

"Say you will Ginny."

She barely understood what they were saying and definitely couldn't respond with their hands probing, their mouths scorching, their bodies burning against her.

Then they pulled away; all the ecstasy fleeing in an instant. It hurt, pain like she had never known was the absence of that ascendant bliss.

"We need a yes Ginny."

"Tell us yes Ginny."

"Yes," she whispered, weak, flagging, feeling like she might die if she didn't get 'it' now.

"What was that?'

"Didn't quite hear you."

"YES!" she cried. "Yes! Yes. Please, yes."

Warm flesh pressed in on either side, engulfing her like a cocoon. "I think she means it," whispered in her ear.

"She even said please," tickled her neck.

"Please," she begged, "stop teasing me. I'm going to die."

"No Ginevra. You will finally live."

They entered forcefully, filling her like she'd never been filled before. She gasped for air as fire filled her body and every sense fused into a single overwhelming bliss.

There was no thought, but a knowing she felt deep inside. After this, she would never be the same again.


	24. Chapter 24

Grimdark  
Chapter 24 – Fear and Loathing

…

"And the storehouse in Kent was completely emptied out. The culprits remain unknown. The potion lab in Devonshire was destroyed by fire. Cause unknown. The dragons we were holding in Cornwall escaped, burned down everything for miles and fled. We don't know how they got free. And the artifact repository in Yorkshire was raided and destroyed. We don't…"

"Oo, oo, let me guess," Bellatrix broke in. "You don't know who did it."

The bureaucrat looked put out but knew better than to sass the unstable witch, "No."

"Is there anything you do know?"

"The dementors are disappearing."

The most feared dark lord of his time stared at the squirming pencil pusher quizzically. "Can you say that again."

"The dementors are disappearing. We don't know how or where. Ever since they were released from Azkaban, they've frequented the populated areas and we've kept a careful census of their numbers and whereabouts. But lately, they've been disappearing, and we can't find them.

"Who knows?"

"It's being kept very hush, hush at the ministry. We don't want to cause a panic."

Meaning everyone in Britain and their kneazle had heard. The only reason there wasn't a panic seemed to be because they hadn't turned up anywhere unexpected.

"Was there anything else."

"Well, um…"

"Spit it out man," shrieked Bellatrix.

"We've confirmed all of Fenrir's pack are either dead or gone. As are all of the non-affiliated werewolves."

"Wonderful! Next you'll be telling us the goblins are revolting and the giants have vanished without a trace."

"Uh—not to my knowledge ma'am."

The unimportant official cowered beneath Bellatrix maddened glare till he was dismissed. The way he fled the room was rather humorous; like he was trying to keep from shitting himself.

"Worthless!" opined Bellatrix.

"Expendable," the dark lord corrected. Why else send him with so much bad news.

"Never would have believed Dumbledore would grow a pair after all this time," she said sourly. "I had heirlooms in Yorkshire."

"I thought you didn't believe it was Dumbledore?"

"Who else? We eliminated everyone else. He's all that's left."

The dark lord shook his head, "It wasn't Dumbledore. The body count is too high." He'd seen the report of each incident well before the ministry deigned to inform him. Everyone on sight had been killed, without exception. That was not Dumbledore.

"So, he finally snapped. He's been losing for so long, maybe he just gave it up."

"No." Dumbledore wouldn't snap. He firmly believed what he believed, and nothing would change that. He'd go to his grave still believing. "It's someone else."

"But who? No one else dares oppose you like this but Dumbledore."

That wasn't entirely true. He simply thought he'd gotten rid of him years ago. Could it be? But how?

"Master?"

"Hmm?"

His crazed lieutenant looked at him with genuine concern; such an odd expression. It made her look, for just a moment, perfectly sane. "You went so quiet for a moment. Is something the matter?'

His empire was under assault; he didn't know who it was, and the only options were a tired old man and a boy he'd thought dead for years. A great deal was the matter, but the most feared dark lord of the age couldn't go around saying such things; bad for the image.

"It's nothing," he said. "A flight of fancy."

"Oh," pause for thought. "Was it about me?"

Restraining his chuckle to a wicked smile, "Now Bellatrix, why would I need to think of you somewhere else when I have you right here."

People would be surprised to know the thing he liked best about Bellatrix wasn't her loyalty, her viciousness and brutality, nor her ability to work a wand (know what I'm sayin). It was the fact she was easy. A little play to her ego or vanity and he could get her to do anything.

Or just leave her to stand there blushing and tittering like a schoolgirl till some faceless minion came charging in like an overweight sprinter after half a lap.

Normally he would have roared at such an intrusion but with the fool bent over sucking wind already, it felt like it would be a waste. "Yes?"

"Suuuu—suuu—Saint Mungo's," he finally got out.

"What about it," said Bellatrix dismissively.

"Fire!"

"And why does this concern me?" Saint Mungo's was run by the ministry—mostly.

"Can't—can't put it out. Won't—won't—…"

"I think I've got the jist," he said, rising from his throne and striding from the room with Bellatrix close behind.

The wizarding hospital had served the magicals of Britain for many years. Since his takeover however, it had taken on another purpose; one that would have made the average witch or wizard much less inclined to go there for anything less than a fatal injury.

The number of people who knew this was small, and conveniently included two of his missing subordinates. Whoever this was he was now facing; they weren't above torture; it was the only way they'd have come by this information.

He couldn't deny feeling a bit of the old thrill. Dumbledore had forced him into a slow grinding battle of attrition; waiting for the old fool to just give up and die. But this, this was something else. Things were happening and happening fast. If he didn't hurry who knew what he might miss.

…

"Too fast. It's happening too fast."

Haste was a thing for the young. Always rushing here or there, never taking the time to think about what they were doing or where they were going. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was not young by any definition, which would explain why he felt everyone was leaving him behind.

Things continued to happen at an ever-accelerating pace. Fred Weasley, and some sort of creature that looked and acted just like him that he'd adopted as his dead brother, were running around Britain and Ireland with the sort of manic energy he'd always seen from the Weasley twins.

The results of said energy were much the same as then, but bigger, and with a body count.

It was Harry's fault of course. They'd been in dire straits before but at least people weren't dying in droves; killed by those who should have been better than that.

He regretted many things in his life; Arianna, Gellert, even his brother. Not a day went by he didn't miss his phoenix, (and how Tom found a way to kill the magnificent bird was still a mystery). But bringing Harry back, by far, was his greatest regret.

Fortunately, it was the one he could still fix. He just needed to find an opening. He would surely go after Tom soon. Things were moving too quickly for him not to.

It was simply a matter of ensuring the final conflict went as he wished. Then, with Harry and Voldemort gone, he, Dumbledore, could get on with the herculean task of putting Great Britain back together.

"Come in," he said to the knock at his door.

A ginger head poked in nervously, "You wanted to see me sir?"

"Yes, come in Ronald, come in," he said, gesturing magnanimously. "Lemon drop?"

"Uh, no thank you," he said.

He shrugged, popping one of the coveted candies and savoring the sweetly sour tang. "I've called you here on a matter of some importance Ronald. Events are moving quickly, and we too must move with haste lest we be left behind."

"Yes sir. What did you want me to do sir?"

"Let's start with Harry. When all is said and done everything seems to be centered around him at the moment. What is he up to right now?"

"Well…"


	25. Chapter 25

Grimdark  
Chapter 25 – Ron on the bank

…

"Excuse me."

The goblin looked up from his ledger with a well-practiced sneer. The wizard looked back with a neutral expression, perfectly flat, giving away nothing. Impressive. Most wizards could barely control their expressions at the best of times; this one could well have been chiseled from stone.

"Can I help you, wizard?" he said, careful to make 'wizard' sound like something filthy he'd scuffed off the bottom of his shoe that morning.

"I have an appointment with the bank manager."

Slaktong almost fell of his chair hearing this. No one below the Minister of Magic ever 'had and appointment' with the manager of Gringotts, who was also the chief of every goblin in Britain.

"That was in very poor humor wizard."

"Do I look like I was joking."

No, he didn't, but still, "And who shall I say has arrived for his appointment?"

"Harry Potter."

…

The wizard strode into his office with the calm even tread of an apex predator. His face betrayed no emotion, his body no fear. If only those wizards he'd dealt with in the past had been so admirably stoic.

"Mr. Potter."

"Chief Takrot."

Yes, Chief Takrot. It wasn't a financial matter this wizard had come to discuss. "I received your letter," if a near declaration of war could be referred to as something so bland and common.

"Then you know why I am here."

"I believe I know why you think you are here," or that had been his assumption before the man had walked in. He was becoming less and less certain every second those empty green eyes bore into him.

"Enlighten me. I wouldn't presume to be on the same intellectual level as goblins."

Above or below, Takrot understood was intentionally left unsaid. "You are here of course, to accept our unconditional surrender, as you outlined. That the goblin nation should submit to you."

"I believe I recall writing something like that."

Cagey bastard. "Regrettably, I am unable to comply with these demands. Not only do they infringe on various treaties, but they are also patently absurd."

"You think so?"

"We have survived foolish wizards and dark lords for longer than your family line has been twiddling a stick."

"Which side?"

His lip curled at the flippant reply, "Do not make light wizard. Remember where you are."

"I am, exactly where I want to be."

The goblin chief had to pause a moment to properly understand the ramifications of that simple statement. He did not like the conclusion. "So, you have come to kill me?" He wouldn't be the first to try.

"Not just you," said the wizard. "You may recall the very end of my missive where I outlined the repercussions for failure to comply."

"The death of every goblin in, on, or around Gringotts," the manager spat. "Even the dark lord could not accomplish that."

"Only because he lacks the motivation, or the imagination to do so. I am not so hindered. Last chance. Submit, and I will spare your people."

Looking straight into those vile green eyes, he said, "No."

The smile that followed was beyond unnerving. "I figured as much."

A small crystal orb appeared in his hand, only to be crushed with a crack that was not only audible, but something else; something, deeper. "What was that?"

"A beacon," he replied, letting the fine crystal sand flow from his hand. "Feel free to grab that dagger in your top drawer. It won't help but I'd hate to kill you unarmed. Hardly sporting."

He didn't immediately go for the dagger. Unable to believe what was being implied till the building shook from a powerful explosion. He went for the dagger. It didn't help.

…

"Secure the tracks! Hurry, don't let them dig in."

Shouts and screams echoed through the lobby as werewolves, transformed in broad daylight, tore through the retreating goblins as they fled down halls and sought more defensible positions to fight from.

Lavender seemed particularly excited, bounding from goblin to goblin, ripping out guts and tearing off heads with wild abandon.

"She's having fun," Draco remarked, dodging a bit of flying intestines.

"She always was very outgoing," Ginny agreed.

The two of them strode calmly through the lobby, a briefcase in hand for each. Draco was dressed in all black, looking very much the lord he was always meant to be. Quite dashing.

Ginny had gone for the all black as well but in leather, and nothing so modest as her boy toy. The black leather corset did wonders for her cleavage and the pants looked painted on. She was a sight, sumptuous eye candy, even without the six-inch stilettos.

"You know I always used to hate coming here," she said.

"Really?"

"Just reminded me of how much I'd never have, and how much I wanted it."

"Shall I get you a bathtub and fill it with gold so you can splash around a bit."

She looked at him with eyes of mischief and plastered herself to his side. "Do you have any idea how fuckable you are to me right now?" she purred.

"Later," he said, with incredible restraint. "Business first."

Setting the two briefcases on the floor, they unfolded and unfolded into something like a gateway. The portal through became hazy, then dark before clarifying into an image of a forest and a single female figure.

Ginny waved then got out of the way as Suragog preceded a swarm of man-sized spiders that flooded the lobby in a matter of minutes before forcing their way into the halls and toward the tracks.

"All goes according to the masters wishes," said Suragog. "Where is he?"

Good question. "He should have been in the manager's office.

"Is somebody talking about me?"

He walked across a carpet of acromantula, twirling a dagger, without a chain, and looking quite pleased with himself which might have had something to do with the half-naked Lavender on his arm. Prat.

"Nice knife," said Draco.

"A gift from the 'former' bank manager. I see all went according to plan."

"They never saw it coming."

"Sorta takes all the fun out of it," he mused. "Ah well. We're done up here. On to the caverns. Have you seen your brothers?"

"I think they were leading the assault on the tracks," she said, ignoring easily now the way he said 'brothers' like the doppelganger really was George. It made Fred happy, that was enough.

"Let us join them then."

The tracks were secured by the time they arrived. Fred and George were examining the mechanisms of the rail carts as they approached.

"Problem lads?"

"Not as such," said one.

"It's just the mechanisms."

"Only limited speeds."

"Fast or faster."

"Breaks look questionable."

"Also."

" "We're not really sure where we're going" "

Sounded like a problem to Ginny, but Harry appeared unperturbed. "We have the vault numbers, yes?"

The sheet was presented. "Well then, since we're not clients I see no reason to do this the normal way. Suragog!"

"My lord," the spider queen cooed, sidling up to the free arm.

"These tunnels are full of vermin. Deal with them."

"Yes master," she squealed gleefully.

Like an eight-legged waterfall they swept into the caverns. The goblins here were better prepared, armed and ready. That didn't stop them from screaming as they swam in acromantula tearing and biting.

"Draco, Ginny. I think this should be enough room for you two," he said as they all stood at the precipice of a great descent.

She looked down excitedly. So much space, and other things too. She'd swear she could smell the gold.

"Does she look anxious to you Draco?"

"Maybe she needs a minute."

The two idiots grinned, and not her brothers, when she looked at them, "I'll deal with you two later."

Turning her back to the edge she calmly leaned back and plummeted. The wind raced across her skin, such jubilant pain. Her tail caught the wall, dragging a long furrow before her wings spread, caught air, and she soared out into the expanse.

Crisscrossing tracks filled the cavern and she slammed her bulk through them like so many toothpicks. A roar echoed the cavern and she looked up to see her Draco, mighty, magnificent, declare himself to the pitiful goblin nation. So fuckable.

They tore through the cavern, crushing, smashing and melting anything that got in front of them. She saw Harry, Lavender and her brothers on one of the lower levels examining vaults.

Gold, her brain said, and she quickly went to see.

"This is where they start," said Fred, halting them in front of a vault in the lower digits.

"Great, now what?" said Lavender.

"We open it."

"How?"

"Let me," said Ginny, shoving them aside so she could get a clear shot.

"You think she realizes all that heat is going to melt anything in there before she gets through."

"Pretty sure the thinking part of her brain is not in charge right now."

"Move on to the next one," said Harry. "Let her play with this one."

They had six others open before Ginny pried the half-melted vault door off in pieces to discover her brothers were right, it was all melted; melted or burned as there had been a number of portraits and other nonmetals inside.

Oops.

Though in a way it worked out, once she managed to squeeze inside, she was able to wallow in a pool of silver and gold; mostly gold. It was a little dragon's dream come true.

"Always felt our sister had a bit of the gold digger in her."

"No, no Freddy, gold swimmer."

"Ah yes, important distinction."

"Are you two just going to stand around making dumb jokes?"

The twins looked at each other, then the half-naked puppy girl, " "Maybe." "

"Save it," said Harry. "We've still got dozens more to open up. I don't want to be here all day."

"I do," Ginny boomed.

"We're never going to get her out of there," said Lavender.

"Sure we will," said Harry. "When she realizes there's more gold out here, she'll come out."

That did sound like a good reason, but when she attempted to, she made a horrible discovery. "Uh, oof! Hey guys, I think I'm stuck."

"What a shame."

"No, seriously, I can't get out. It all hardened again while I was laying here."

"Isn't that a pity."

"Hey, look at this!"

"What! Look at what?"

"Unbelievable. I know some men are perverts but, this is just, I mean really just…"

"What! Just what?'

"A giant golden dildo," Harry laughed.

Giant golden dildo! Brilliant! It was the only possible way to make gold better, make it fuckable. Except…

"Guys. I want the golden dildo. Help me! Guys? Come on. Guys! Guys." Sniffle. "Guys?"

…

Whoo boy, that was dark, right? Next chapter, a brief intermission from all this gloom and wickedness.


	26. Chapter 26

Grimdark  
Chapter 26 – And now, a cute kitten

The morning sun rose over the happy farm, Hogwarts. At the top of the barn, a tall, gangly, overimportant cock (who's name was Percy) sounded the morning wake up call.

"Get up! Get up! Can't you here me I said get up!" he crowed importantly.

Inside the barn, not immune to the ruckus outside, a tiny ball of black fluff raised his head. "Wha?" he wondered in that adorable, barely conscious way kittens do.

This was Harry cat, but don't let the name fool you; he wasn't really a proper cat yet. Harry was at that age, still kitten cute, all whiskers and fluff, but cat enough to have an independent streak that would make a skunk proud.

None of this was evident as he yawned the biggest, cutest yawn; gave his face a quick wash before opening big, vibrant green eyes and giving the day a quick look.

Straw; lots of straw, just like he thought. A few other heads poked out of the straw as his roommates began to stir. He was usually up before them and saw no reason to wait.

Gracefully he hopped down the ladder, taking pride in his agility. In a small pile of straw fallen from the loft sat a black and white speckled kitten looking very confused. This was normal; Neville was a little slow in the mornings.

"Good morning Neville."

"Huh? Bwa… oh, Harry."

"Sleep well?"

Neville didn't like heights, but he wasn't big enough to sleep outside the barn. To be nice they'd all pushed enough straw out for him to make his own bed, though no one had been willing to give up the loft just to keep him company.

"It was, okay," he said, rather like a kicked puppy. He was a scruffy pathetic little thing, just like a puppy; hard not to feel sorry for him.

"Come one, breakfast soon."

"Oh, yeah."

One thing Neville had in his favor; he was chubby. At least you knew he wasn't starving, but that was mostly thanks to old man Dobbs. The farmer had a soft spot for underdog's, and you couldn't get much farther under the dogs than Neville.

The rest of the kittens were just staggering up to the house when Mrs. Winky came out with breakfast. She was the main reason Neville survived despite being kinda useless. She was also the reason Neville spent most of his time hanging around the house.

Around, but not in. The indoor cats didn't care for him and they could be very mean.

"So, what're you guys doing today?" asked Dean, a black kitten like Harry but short haired with dark eyes.

"I was gonna go chase that bullfrog down by the pond," said Seamus, a ginger with a belligerent streak and a bad habit of getting into bottles he shouldn't get into.

"I was just gonna sit up here by the house," said Neville timidly, making the others sigh.

"You need to get out more," said Dean.

"What about you Harry?"

What about him? There wasn't anything he needed to do. The day was bright and sunny; the possibilities were infinite. "I think I'll go visit Hermione cat."

It seemed like a good idea to him. The way his friends gaped suggested some contrary opinions.

"Are you crazy!" said Seamus.

"Don't do it Harry!" said Dean.

Neville just cowered and moaned.

"Oh, come on. She's not that bad." Sure, the bow-legged cat down the road could be bossy and a little neurotic, but deep down she was very sweet.

"Not her," said Seamus. "Haven't you heard?"

"I guess not."

"They've seen him skulking in the grass again," said Dean.

"Who?"

"You know who."

"Oh! You mean Voldemort."

A trio of hisses made him roll his eyes, something cats were especially good at. One of many attributes that made them superior to dogs.

"Don't say his name," Neville mewled.

"Why?"

"Because," the other two hissed.

"Oh for pudding sake, he doesn't even have ears."

Nose held high, and tail even higher, he left the cowering kittens to go see his friend. He'd only gotten round the house when the first obstacle presented itself.

"Well look who it is."

"Draco. Who let you out?"

Draco was from the newest litter of the house cats. Milky white, he preened more than most girl cats Harry knew. So did his father though so it was probably hereditary.

"No one let me," he said pompously. "I go where I please."

"Just not alone," said Harry, eyeing the housecats bookends warily.

Crabbe and Goyle were odd creatures. They were a sort of pig he'd been told, from Guinea. They were older than he or Draco, having once belonged to his father. Now they followed his favored kit, following him around like a pair of stout, squeaky, dogs.

"So where are you off to; not that I care?"

Then why did you ask, he thought about saying. "Down the road to see Hermione."

The white cat cackled, "Oh really? But haven't you heard; he's been seen again."

"I heard," said Harry.

"And you're still going? I guess you really are as stupid as they say."

The prissy house cat laughed, signaling to his chaperones they should as well. Harry didn't let their mockery get to him; no need to. He had claws, didn't he.

Crabbe squealed when Harry's paw swiped his nose, drawing the barest hint of blood. The wounded pig ran about in a panic which allowed Harry to square up with Goyle and give the confused pig a hard stare.

Unsure what to do, Goyle sought his inner possum for advice and obeyed without question.

Gaping like a minnow, Draco looked at his minions, then at his hated adversary calmly washing his face. "Anything else?"

"Why you!" he hissed and leapt, tiny paws flailing.

Harry met him mid leap and the two collided in a mass of swiping paws. Leaping apart, Draco looked at himself aghast.

"Look at what you did! I'm all dirty. When my father hears of—blehegh, eck!" he cried, choking on a mouthful of dirt the smirking black kitten had swiped at him.

Not about to lose the opportunity, he pounced, shoving Draco into the dirt and padding his fur with as much as he could.

"NO! Stop! Mew!" he whined as his pretty white fur was sullied with soil.

He broke free when Harry got bored and dashed for the house crying, "Mama! Mama! I'm dirty!"

Smirking a satisfied smirk, he gave Goyle a quick bop to wake him up then sent him on his way before going his own, tail waving proudly in the air.

"Well that was fun." Not every day he got to mess up the spoiled house cat. "Now if only I'd had a mud puddle."

Trotting down the drive toward the mailbox, he noticed the grass by the old milk can was shaking. He slowed his trot to a stealthy creep and stalked forward.

He was almost on top of it when a head popped out and both of them jumped. It was a weasel, but not just any weasel.

"Ron!" the weasel.

"Oh, Harry. Gosh you scared me."

Harry grinned at the unintentional praise of his stalking prowess. "What are you doing?"

"Lookin for food." He usually was. "What're you doing?"

"Going to see Hermione," initiate eye roll as the weasel gaped.

"But—haven't you heard?'

"Heard what Ron?" like he didn't know.

"You know who."

"Who?"

"You know who," the weasel insisted.

"Pretend I don't."

"Wha—bu I, I uh, bu, you, uh…"

Harry knew it was mean to tease his friend; weasel's being so excitable, but then again, weasels were excitable and no end of entertainment.

"Harry! Harry stop laughing, this is serious."

"No," the black kitten laughed. "This is Sirius."

Confused, the weasel turned around and looked up—and up, and up. His body shook as his entire field of vision was filled with a huge hairy beast.

"Woof."

"Ee!"

Contracting a case of possum, Ron the weasel collapsed into the grass, oblivious to the chuffing snicker coming from the bear sized hound.

Harry just grinned, "Hi Uncle Sirius."

Sirius used to be farmer Dobbs sheep dog. They threw him out when the house cats framed him for the death of Harry's parents, with the help of a certain rat. Now he lived in the woods between farms. Harry had only met him a few weeks prior yet couldn't imagine his life without him.

"Where you off to pup?" the mangy old beast inquired.

"I'm going to see Hermione."

"The dentists, huh?"

Hermione's owners were retired dentists who'd moved to the country. "Seemed like a nice day for it."

"Well why don't I walk with you a bit."

"Kay."

The road between the two farms was bordered in pasture; filled with tall green grass where the livestock grazed.

"Morning Susan."

"Moooooorning Harry."

Susan was a cow; Holstein. She had the biggest udders and never minded sharing her milk. Harry like her; she was very sweet for a cow, and very brave. She didn't so much as flinch when the worn-out old coyote came loping up.

"Morning Uncle Remus."

"Ay, Remus!"

"Good morning Harry. Sirius."

Remus was a good old soul, a domestic beast in a wild one's body. He and Sirius had been old friends of his father's.

"What's the word Remy?"

"Turkey."

"Are you serious?"

"No, you are."

It was a bad joke; they laughed anyway. "Gotta go kiddo."

"Bring me back a bit."

"I'll get ya the dangly bit on the neck."

With a quick bound he was over the fence and the two old dogs were gone, chasing birds.

"Well, better get going."

"You sure you wanna go that way?" asked Susan. "I heard that nasty snakes been spotted again."

"I'll be fine."

Those in the know were aware it hadn't been Sirius who'd killed his parents. No, it was only thanks to the housecats anyone believed that. They'd taken great care to rough the bodies, so they looked like they'd been savaged by a dog, not bitten by a snake.

Everyone was afraid of Voldemort; well, mostly everyone. Harry wasn't, and neither was the old Billy goat, Dumbledore. Dumbledore had taken a bit off the snakes tail once and he was still afraid of the old glue licker.

Harry had no such tale of braver, he was just too independent for his own good and refused to let some dumb old snake scare him. He had the fastest reflexes anyone on the farm had ever seen; they all said so, and a keen sense of danger that had served him well.

It served him very well as he was passing an old tire with dandelions growing in it and had just enough warning to plaster himself to the ground, dodging a flying tackle and a pair of fangs at the front of it.

"Very good Harry. I hoped thissss would not be sso easssssy."

"Voldemort." His green eyes narrowed at the long white serpent with the evil yellow eyes.

His scales shone in the light of late morning, his fangs glinting venomously. "Foolissssssh it was for you to come. Your parentssss were too large for me, but you will make a fine meal." His forked tongue flicked across his fangs causing Harry to shiver, poofing into a big black ball.

His bravado felt very hollow in the face of the enemy. All well and good to say you'd do this or that to old what's his face, till he was right in front of you and suddenly you didn't really feel like it.

The snake laughed its hissing laughter and lunged. The kitten leapt, scrambling away with the snake right on his tail.

"You're going the wrong way. My belly is this direction." The snake chortled.

"Shut up!" As come backs went it was pretty weak, but the thinking brain was currently running reserve while the keep me alive brain that had him leaping, dashing, and bounding about had control.

Pity it wasn't paying attention to where he was going. He might have avoided getting cornered by the snake and the trash in the ditch. Damn litter bugs.

"Got you."

Harry watched his death approach; smugly slow, lining up his attack with agonizing care. "Goodbye, Harry cat."

He struck; Harry flinched; but the expected pain never came. He dared a peek and found the snake not an inch from his whiskers but unable to reach him. The reason for this was obvious.

"Dumbledore!"

The old goat grinned through the snake tail in his mouth, "Morning."

"You!" the snaked hissed furiously. "I'll get you."

The snake turned but the goat had him and beat him hard against the fence posts several times before giving him a good hard fling into the pasture.

"Are you alright Harry?"

"Thanks to you." The kitten mewed gratefully.

The goat nodded, ushering the kitten along before going after the snake for round two.

Harry arrived at the other farm; prancing gayly into the yard and finding his friend asleep under a book. Excitedly he told her of his adventure getting to her. She did not share his enthusiasm.

"What were you thinking. You could have been killed. Did he bite you? Oh, I'd better check."

Neurosis in full gear he suffered through an inspection that would have made the most coddling mother hen say, "Easy dear."

Who knew there were worse things than the snake, he thought? Voldemort just wanted to eat him.


	27. Chapter 27

Grimdark  
Chapter 27 – Panic in the streets

…

Panic; panic ran rampant in the streets. He was very good at it. He'd had centuries to practice; millennia even. Practically since the first street was cobbled, panic was there, screaming at the top of his lungs.

The people of Britain have long been renown for their stoicism. Wizards and witches; less so. Or maybe it was just an off day for stoicism; everyone needs a vacation, and after years living under a dark lord, that stiff upper lip was bound to start wobbling.

Word had spread like bad news always does. Diagon Alley was filled well past its advised occupancy; beyond standing room only to the point people were sitting on brooms and carpets just to get a look.

Wizards had long memories; it's why they were so good at holding grudges, and for as long as anyone could remember, Gringotts had been full of goblins. The long dead history teacher none of them had listened to could have told them why and how this had occurred; the final result of a long line of goblin rebellions, but even the best listener would have tuned out after the first ten minutes.

Not that it mattered now. As far as anyone could see, there were no more goblins in Gringotts. No one had yet gone in to check. The giant web with all the goblin heads decorating it had deterred most and the oozing blood slick that refused to dry provided a hazard unsurpassable to the rest, not to mention unsettling.

"What a bloody mess, aye dear?"

The very unfunny man was promptly cuffed by his wife.

"Mama! Mama, I wanna see the heads."

For all the fear percolating through the crowd there was a certain excitement as well. No one really liked the goblins, so sympathy was in short supply. The only things that kept the whole thing from turning into a party was the concern most had for their own money, and perhaps more importantly, what would the dark lord think of this?

He was none too pleased when he arrived, that much was evident; thought it may have had more to do with the density of the crowd. People tried to get out of the way but there was nowhere to go, so people were gifted with the sight of the dark lord flying just over their heads; no broom necessary.

His lieutenant was not so gifted, and even if she were, she wasn't about to go giving the whole crowd a free show. It took a lot of kicking and screaming but she finally got to the bank, stalking right past the aurors who tried not to cower.

Her boots were spelled resistant to liquids so the uncongealing blood was no obstacle and the web was far enough away from the door not to prohibit entrance. She found her master already inside, admiring the tower of bodies providing the source of the running blood river.

"You must admit Bellatrix, it is impressive."

The mad woman just nodded dumbly. In all her life she'd never seen anything so grotesque, and she'd been born a Black. The bodies; hundreds at least, were compacted together into a sort of pillar that left bits hanging out like they were trying to escape. It was brutally macabre.

"I want one," she whispered, not very quietly.

"It does bring the room together," he agreed.

Something needed to, because great effort had clearly been made to tear it apart. "Not Dumbledore," was stating the obvious.

"No."

"Then who?"

"I think that is self-explanatory." He gestured to a wall where three lines had been smeared in blood. It looked at first like a lopsided N, but the angles weren't right, or the writer not good.

Her twisted brain twisted the marking past the point of breaking where it reassembled itself into some sort of rabbit who looked at her sternly and told her to stop daydreaming.

"A lightning bolt?"

"Yes."

"… I don't understand," and she whimpered when her dark lord sighed.

"I suppose you were in Azkaban during all that, you wouldn't know the mark of the boy who lived."

"Never could stand that name."

Like a striking viper, Bellatrix wand was trained on the dark-haired man. He couldn't have been fifteen feet away, impossibly, sneakily close. She didn't like that; sneaking up on people was something she did.

"Harry Potter."

The man named gave a jaunty wave and grinned, "I am remembered."

"Now Harry, just because I threw you into hell doesn't mean I would forget you."

"You're Harry Potter?" She'd never met him; barely even heard about him once she got out. Looked a bit like her cousin, and more than a bit like his father.

"And you are?"

"Bellatrix Lestrange."

"Hmm." His eyes looked her up and down, then up again. The gleam in his wicked green eyes made her extremely embarrassed; she was a traditional girl after all.

"Are you done ogling my subordinate Harry?"

"Did you want a turn?"

That was too much, "Bastard!" A sickly pink spell flew at the roughish cad. He dodged it with insulting ease.

"Was it something I said?"

Growling and ready to unleash—something horrible, her dark lord interceded on the fool's behalf. "That's enough Bellatrix. You know how young men can be."

In her experience they squealed like little piggy's when she ground her heels in while doing the nutcracker dance. Lewd remarks and inappropriately lingering looks were entirely new to her.

"I must say I'm surprised to see you Harry."

"You mean at Gringotts, or just at all?"

The dark lord smiled, "Both. I've never known anyone banished into Infernum to return; and I banished more than a few."

"Imagine that."

"Yes, and Lucius managed to acquire all the money in your vault, with a little backdoor dealing."

"I did not know that. Spose he thought he was too good to use the front door. He might touch a commoner."

Bellatrix scowled when her dark lord laughed. It wasn't the wicked laugh she so loved that turned her insides to melted butter; it was normal. What the hell!

"Tell me Harry, how did you get out of Infernum?"

"Bad luck," he said. "And Dumbledore too, I spose he was involved."

"Ah, the book; must have been."

"Mm, he wasn't happy when I borrowed it. Actually, I don't think he's been happy with anything I've done since I came back."

"You do buck the status quo Harry."

"That I do."

"He is very old and set in his ways."

"That he is."

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. They were chatting; chatting like two old schoolmates seeing each other for the first time in years. It was positively surreal.

"You've been very busy lately I've heard. Can't help but feel you've been ignoring me though."

"Not at all. Business before pleasure after all. Wouldn't be proper to come see you without tearing down your empire a bit first. Here."

A letter was produced from a pocket and flung with precision into the dark lords waiting hand. "And what is this?"

"An invitation. I do hope you'll come. It wouldn't be the same without you."

The dark lord chuckled as he scanned the contents, "How very thoughtful."

"I try to be accommodating," he said. "Do be there. Black tie only." He directed a final salacious look at Bellatrix, "Red dress allowed."

And before she could curse him, he ducked behind the nearest pillar and was gone. She checked to make sure.

"I think he likes you."

The human vocal apparatus was not designed to make the noise that would appropriately convey her level of disgust at that idea; what came out was something akin to a large angry dog trying to gargle gravel.

"Now, none of that," the dark lord teased. "We have a party to prepare for," he said, handing her the letter. "And Harry has been good enough to throw it in our own backyard. Wasn't that thoughtful."

Bellatrix stared in disbelief, but it was all right there in black, white and red. The exact time and place; the night of the new moon two days hence, and the place, "Malfoy Manor."


	28. Chapter 28

Grimdark  
Chapter 28 – Who wants to party

…

"Thirty-eight, thirty-nine… forty."

Stowing the final candle and sliding the lid over the box she gave a sigh of relief; handing the box off to the little goat legged thing who toddled out of the room with his parcel.

"That's the last of it," and thank Merlin, Hermione thought. She'd barely been on her feet a week and that prat that called himself her friend had her working. Advanced physical therapy, he called it.

"Hermione, you in here?"

A familiar head popped in and Hermione smiled, "Hello Patience. What can I do for you?"

She came into the room looking nervous. Hermione thought it must be rather exhausting, being so nervous all the time.

"I—I need to talk to you, about something."

By the look of it, on a personal matter. What a novel concept. No one had ever come to her with personal problems before; unless homework could be considered a personal problem.

"Why don't we sit down," she really needed to anyway. "So, tell me, what's bothering you."

She tried to. Her mouth opened and closed but no words came. Forced to play twenty questions, she started with the obvious.

"Is it Harry?" Seemed a fair guess.

The look she got was terror and shock, like she'd been caught sneaking out of jail.

"Did he do something?"

She shook her head.

"Did you want him to do something?"

Her lower lip quivered, "I don't know."

Curioser and curioser, "Do you like Harry?"

The answer was almost certainly yes; the way her whole face turned bright red said it. But then there were the tears, and the whimpering which just left her all confused. "Patience, stop this," she ordered, trying to channel her inner McGonagall. "I can't help you if you're going to be like this."

It wasn't the best impression, but it seemed to get through. "He—he scares me."

"What!" Okay, so maybe she could understand. Harry had always possessed an intensity that could be scary when it was turned toward you, but that didn't seem quite right here. She hated to admit, "I don't understand."

"The way he looks at me, it—it makes me feel—I, I don't know."

Oh! Now she understood. "Patience, I know he can be a bit much, but Harry would never force you into that sort of thing." Not if he knew what was good for him.

"But what if I wanted him to?"

Eh? "Eh?"

"I, I was only twelve when I was put in Camp A. Still just a girl, a late bloomer too. I was lucky in that regard. Camp A was a horrible place; the guards were cruel for the fun of it. We were told a lot of things; we'd stolen our magic; we didn't deserve to be wizards, things like that.

"They took every chance to humiliate and demean us all day long, but at night, that's when it got really bad. They used to take one or two of the girls every night into the small room next to the door.

"The walls were thin. We'd lay in our filthy beds listening all night, knowing, someday, it would be our turn.

"They left the younger girls mostly alone. We weren't developed enough for them. But time changed that. One by one we grew, and one by one they took us. I was one of the last. I could feel my body growing, betraying me with—these!"

There was a ping of jealousy when the girl's chest bounced, even under the heavy sweater she was wearing. Hermione shoved it away to be ruthlessly dealt with later.

"There were three of us when I turned fourteen. Three of us that hadn't yet been taken. I was the oldest, but I hid it well. Hid my body well. They must have noticed though. One night the guards came, looking for new toys. They were looking at one of the other girls when the third pointed at me.

"I was stunned. The betrayal burned but not as much as their groping hands. They dragged me into the room; I was terrified. Against all reason I fought back, even knowing what that would earn me.

"They were ready for the fighting. They laughed. I don't think they were laughing when I vanished form the room. It shouldn't have been possible. The whole place was warded against it and I didn't get very far, just outside.

"I didn't know what had happened, but I knew what would happen if they caught me. I ran. I could hear them behind me. I was sure they were going to catch me. Then Fleur appeared; she shoved me into hiding. I watched her, them, it. She charmed them after, sent them on their way and brought me here."

Her story complete, she slumped back in her chair. Tears welled, but exhaustion permeating, kept them from going anywhere.

Hermione was silent; words lost. Her mind ran on overdrive processing information; the hamster had to tag out with his African cousin named Bolt. She was close to the answer, it was right there. Then it came like a dear jumping out in front of a car, the fear. It fell into place, a straight line in a game of Tetris.

"It's not Harry that scares you. All men scare you."

She nodded, sniffling. "But, Harry; he's different. I'm scared but, something else. Like, what those guards were going to do to me, I want him to do to me and—and—I'm so confused!"

Confused and distraught, to judge by her sobbing. Hermione could almost understand; after what she'd been through. But that had been just Ron, just one man, and it'd been Harry, just one more man, who'd saved her.

She'd suffered, but not consciously; not like Patience. Being lost in her own mind for years was very different than being terrorized daily, and she had no counter to that. No Harry who had saved her like Hermione.

It scared her to think, what Patience needed, was Harry. It's what she wanted; she'd admitted as much. If not for the fear torturing her, she'd have already given in to his charms, and happily, Hermione had no doubt.

So, the question; how to give her the gentle nudge she needed. She never found the answer, there wasn't time. The door swung open, exposing the scene in harsh, judgmental light, softened only by the dark figure silhouetted in the doorframe.

"Hermione, everything re—oh, hello Patience."

He was quick on his feet; you couldn't say he wasn't that. Barely a glance and he'd assessed the situation, his tone shifting seamlessly from casual business to wouldn't startle a rabbit gentle.

Patience looked at her; she made an abbreviated gesture, tried to give an encouraging smile. She could see the girl gulp as she stood, timidly walk to the door. She paused for a split second like she was going to say something. "Excuse me."

Her footsteps echoed retreat and Hermione sighed. She was so close.

"I'm getting the impression that's not how you wanted that to go?"

To put it mildly, "I—I just hoped…" what had she hoped? She was feeling rather confused on the topic herself now.

"Something I should know about?"

Was it? Well, yes sort of. Actually, that might be perfect. Harry would know how to handle her, probably. But, would Patience want her to tell him. She hadn't asked her not to, but it felt very much like she was speaking in confidence. OO!

"Hermione?"

Should she? "Harry…"

…

"Oh, Harry," Voldemort mused, calmly sipping at a glass of wine as he watched the hands tick round the face of a grandfather clock.

Time, like death, was a thing he'd given much thought over the years; intimately connected as they were. It felt in a very real way like his time was running out, and it bothered him how much it didn't bother him.

He'd spent years finding ways to dodge the reaper, give himself more time. The things he'd done would make all but the most twisted soul blanche, but he'd done them, enjoyed them even, and for what?

Britain was his, he'd won. Dumbledore was holed up at Hogwarts, a minor distraction, he hardly cared, and that was the problem. Apathy; he couldn't remember when exactly it set in; sometime after the government fell and the muggle born were rounded up.

Easy, it had all been so easy. The light had fought but they were handicapped by their own refusal to do what needed doing. If they killed anyone it was an accident; he did it on purpose. The fight was no fun when the opponent tied their own hands. It was insulting, and stupid, and boring.

He couldn't remember when he stopped caring, but he had. The moment he started caring again though, that he remembered with crystal clarity; Azkaban.

The sheer audacity it took to besiege that place; it brought a smile to his lips, which parted for another sip. He'd never believed it was Dumbledore, and never thought it could be Harry till he saw him at Gringotts.

It was like looking back in time; a younger version of himself. Charming, confident; it was downright uncanny.

"Master."

"Yes, Bellatrix?"

"The giants are in place. The last of the dementors have been corralled and await release. Your forces are gathered, ready to die, at your word."

The dark lord chuckled; his lieutenant's view of things was always a bit, optimistic. He seriously doubted there was a wizard present who would die if he told them to, without a bit of prodding.

"Very good Bellatrix."

"Master?"

"Yes, Bellatrix?"

"Forgive me for being impertinent, but, are you well? You do not seem yourself?"

Her concern was touching; too few in his life had ever shown it. "I am fine," he said. "I have simply found occasion to, reflect, on certain things.

"Master?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you—afraid?"

If he was, not as much as she. "No. I think I am, excited. How long has it been since we'd a proper battle?"

"Too long."

"Yes, too long." He beckoned her come, and she knelt, taking his offered hand. "You are with me, Bellatrix?"

"To the end of the world my lord." Her conviction was absolute, as he knew it would be. No uncertainty, no fear, the perfect soldier. She would die very well.

…

She wanted to die. Fear and uncertainty plagued her, all the missed opportunities, the humiliation. For so long she'd tried to be brave, overcome her loathsome weakness, and failed. She wanted to die, but she was too much a coward to do even that.

"Patience."

She shrieked at the interruption of her moping. It was a small private room she was hiding in. How had he found her? He, "Harry," she whimpered, ashamed.

He stood, a dark outline in the doorway. It filled her with feelings she couldn't describe when he entered, leaving the door ajar as he approached her.

Her traitorous, cowardly feet backed away slowly, "What do you want?" her stupid mouth squawked.

"The same thing you do Patience."

The wall against her back drew a startled yelp, and she froze, a deer caught in the headlights; piercing, green headlights.

"I—I, I…" tied in knots, her tongue was of no use; a broken record with a single letter. He drew near, she was trapped. Her heart pounded, ramming speed, daring to flee out her chest.

It was all made worse by how slowly he was moving. She watched every motion, gesture like it was is slow motion.

"Patience." She whimpered. "Hermione told me Patience. Told me what was bothering you, why you're afraid."

Dammit! He knew. He knew, and he was there, and she still couldn't face him without trembling. "I—I can't…"

"Yes, you can."

She flinched from his hand, but he didn't stop, gently caressing her cheek, wiping her waiting tears. "You're a ball of turmoil, waiting to explode, Patience. Let me help you."

He leaned in; she leaned away but had nowhere to lean; damn wall. A soft "oh," escaped her lips when he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. It burned sweetly, stilled her racing breath.

She felt strange when he pulled away, drawn like a magnet. "What will you do now, Patience?"

He was asking her. What was she supposed to do? Why couldn't he do something, he was just leaning there against the table; why did he stop?

"What will you do, Patience?" he asked again.

Momentarily gripped by panic she looked around frantically. The door! The door was still open. Escape; all she had to do was reach the door and she'd be safe and—and then what? What would she be safe from? What was she in danger from?

She looked at Harry; he extended a hand. It looked warm, gentle, and nothing at all like a rattlesnake. It looked like something she wanted to take.

"Patience."

Fighting not to tremble, she slid her hand into his. A gentle kiss against the back stoked a fire deep in her belly, so hot she thought she'd melt. She lost the fight; she trembled. Trembled, cried, and about a dozen other things just within the first five minutes.


	29. Chapter 29

Grimdark  
Chapter 29 – An unforgivable end

…

There was a stillness that came over one before a battle. When all preparations were made and there was nothing left to do but wait, it gave one time to reflect on the choices that brought them to where they are.

"Sugar?"

Or…

"If you insist."

You could have tea.

"I do."

The small group was gathered just beyond surveillance of Malfoy Manor. It was quiet around the ostentatious manor house. Too quiet. Magic quiet. From the outside there appeared to be no one home.

This of course was untrue. A powerful illusion was cast over the place, hiding the assembled forces of the dark lord. It was recent; such a powerful illusion would require powerful amounts of magic to maintain.

It would hold until the attack began. A shock and awe moment meant to demoralize the attacking force. It wouldn't work on Dumbledore; he was already as demoralized as he was going to get.

Harry sat taking tea with the Lovegood girl, paying no heed to the seriousness of the situation or their proximity to danger. His one attempt to chastise them had been blatantly ignored which was worse than if they'd argued; you couldn't debate the silence.

Some ways off, Ronald was standing alone, watching the manor. At least one of them was taking things seriously.

"Getting to be that time love."

Lovegood pulled out a pocket watch and examined it briefly. "Hmm, needs more butter I think," she said, stowing it away and hopping to her feet.

"Off you go then."

"Aren't you forgetting something?" she said, leaning in expectantly.

"Jam?"

"Well, yes that is important," she agreed. "But I was thinking of something else."

"Hmm, can I have a hint?"

She leaned in a gave him a chaste kiss on the lips.

"Hmm, can I have another hint?"

Dumbledore groaned at their game. Her second hint was not so chaste as the first, nor as quick.

"Well, those were lovely hints."

The girl giggled, gave him one more 'hint' on the cheek, then skipped away into the night.

"Where is she going?" Dumbledore asked curtly.

"Who can say? Whimsical girl you know."

Pulling out his own watch he nodded, "Ron, let's go."

Together the three walked towards the manor, skin prickling as they passed through an illusion Dumbledore hadn't spotted. It hid an archway and a series of what appeared to be summoning circles, but without the circles.

"Ron, stand there," Harry ordered. "Albus, if you'd be so kind."

The emblems he indicated did have circles. Circles and a series of lines that connected them to each other and the non-circles.

"What is the purpose of all this?" he asked.

"You didn't think the three of us were going to face the dark lord's forces all alone, did you?"

He didn't know what to think; he'd been pulled in at the very last moment, as if the boy didn't know. But soon; soon he would no longer need Harry Potter. Very soon.

"What do we do Harry?" Ronal asked.

"Just stand there," he said. "I only need you two to anchor, I'll do the rest."

He began his incantation; well-practiced it still sounded vile. Chalk lines came to life with light and through the dark between, things began to emerge.

The large emblems on either side of the arch each produced a large, rotund creature. Blueish scaled with beaks for teeth, their legs were thick and short; their heads primarily mouth.

The arch became a gateway from which marched row upon row of demon. They filled his vision in perfect lines; scrawny imps, beefy brutes, and winged furies. Three hundred before the gateway flickered and vanished. Three hundred horrors loosed into the world.

"Impressive, aren't they," said Harry proudly.

May they all die before the night is over, Dumbledore thought.

"Now what?" asked Ron.

"Give it a minute. That illusion should be coming down any—ah, there it goes."

The scenery wobbled, wavered, then shattered with the sound of tinkling glass that was quickly lost under the roar of an army.

"And there it is."

It was worse than he'd imagined. Every death eater from fanatic to conscript was arrayed besides vampires, giants, and off to one side, dementors. Tom had gathered every available combatant. Before this, the demon army suddenly looked less impressive.

"Not bad," said Harry. "I'd hoped for a good turnout."

Turning to his forces he addressed them briefly, "Standard assault formations. Canon beasts, prepare to fire."

… Meanwhile

The cool of the night chilled her, that had to be it. There was no other reason the hairs were standing up across her arms or her entire body was flushing red.

"Chilly darling?"

NOPE! No other reason. It certainly wasn't because the sexual subject of her continued emotional conflict was snuggled up to her, stroking her hair in that warm affectionate way that made things want to stand up and say, "Hello everyone, look at me!"

She'd never been so grateful to be born female.

"I'm ffffine," she lied, badly.

"If you say so," said Delilah, never pausing in her ministrations which were giving Hermione a bad case of the Wrackspurts.

"Mione! Mione!" an excitable Fleur exclaimed, running up tot them. "The big hard black man says its time!"

Hermione sighed as her charge scampered off before she could say a word. "Why did she need to come with us? I can barely move at normal speed; I can't keep up with that."

Delilah laughed, "That's probably why she wanted to come with you."

Probably. "We should go."

"Indeed. There is much to do. It would not do to displease the master."

"What do you think he's doing right now?"

"Engaging in glorious, bloody combat," said Delilah certainly. "My only regret is I cannot be with him."

"He always did get into trouble when no one was watching him," said Hermione.

"Come on!" squealed the overexuberant Fleur.

…

"Come on," shouted Harry as another volley from the canon beasts soared overhead, smashing into the wards with a cacophonous explosion.

"There almost down! Firing squad, alternating volleys—fire!"

Flaming orbs flew from within the army, smashing into the wards, followed by another canon blast, then another volley. The wards groaned in protest before giving under the assault.

"Advance!"

The army loped forward, maintaining formation till they crossed the broken ward lines. Lope became run, scamper and scurry as they were met by the enemy. Those with wings took flight to provide aerial support and the battle was on.

Standing next to Ronald and Harry, Dumbledore was shaken. Wizarding battle was usually a more civilized, or at least more limited thing. Wizards hadn't engaged in this kind of battle for centuries. It was sickening.

The carnage, the brutality. Vampires tore imps to pieces; bloody, gooey pieces. Brutish demons smashed vampires to hot ash, only to be swatted like exploding melons by giants who cowered under the fiery assault of those hovering overhead not currently engaging the dementors.

It was bloody chaos, impossible to see who was winning. All he could see was death. The wizards were on the worst end of this. Their spells cut, smashed, and otherwise dealt with most of the imps that came near, till one of the brutes hurled an imp into the crowd and a succubus flew by peppering them with fireballs.

The wizards had none of the strength or physical fortification of the giants or vampires. Those too slow with their shields were lit aflame and in the chaos the imps swept over them like a screaming wave.

It hurt him to see so many lives needlessly ended but there was nothing he could do yet. There was another battle needing to be fought before he could end the horror.

"Where is he?" The battle was in full swing, but Tom had yet to appear.

"Waiting for us I'd assume," said Harry. "You wouldn't expect him to go wading through this mess without a reason."

Casual as you please, Harry strolled across the battlefield, easily ducking and dodging where necessary without ever losing stride. Ronald followed close behind as he should and Dumbledore brought up the rear while attempting to keep his composure, along with his lunch.

"Knock, knock!" Harry called. "Anyone home?"

A flash of green flew from nowhere, smashing a bit of stone that sailed into its path at the very last second. The bladed chain that had sent it turned and struck something which fell to the ground with a wet thud, separating into several pieces, one with long flowing hair.

"Lucius Malfoy," Dumbledore identified.

"Don't rich people usually have servants to answer the door?"

The door opened without issue and they stepped into the enemy stronghold. A cliché 'BOOM' echoed through the grand entry to which only Ronald jumped.

"A bit much," said Harry.

"Theatrics," agreed Dumbledore, rolling his eyes.

"Everyone's a critic."

Three women appeared to the left of the grand staircase; all known to Dumbledore, though surprised he was to see the third. "Andromeda."

"Look Andy, someone's talking to you," said Bellatrix snidely.

The woman stared blankly, a clear sign to anyone who knew what they were looking for.

"The Imperius!" This was not Dumbledore's first war. "Why?"

"It was the only way to get her to stop crying," said Bellatrix flippantly, "after we killed that worthless husband, and that mongrel daughter."

"Why didn't you just kill her too?" shouted Ron.

The blonde woman in the middle quirked an imperious eyebrow, "I should think a Weasley would understand family."

"Speaking of family," Harry cut in. "Draco says hello."

Narcissa stifled a reaction but not quickly enough, "Is that so." Her haughtiness was forced, a fact her sister did not miss.

"Don't go getting sentimental on me Sissy."

"Would it make you feel any better to know I cut your husband into a half dozen pieces a minute ago."

Apparently not if her careless shrug was any indication, "I told him to stay in the house. Never listened to me."

"Serves him right," Bellatrix snickered.

"Now Bellatrix, let us not be unkind."

The old man tensed at the dark lord's appearance. The trio of women bowed reverently as he approached from the right, stopping at the head of the stairs, looking down at the three of them.

"Gentleman, welcome."

"It's over Tom. This end's now," said Dumbledore, instantly assuming command.

"You should have ended years ago Dumbledore," the dark lord replied.

"And you should have ended long before that," he fired back, leveling his wand.

"Would you like us to leave the two of you alone for a while?" asked Harry.

The dark lord entertained a smile, "Ladies, keep these young men entertained," he said, calmly descending the stairs.

"Entertained? Who says dark lords don't make good hosts?" Harry quipped, throwing the black sisters a look that had all but the cursed sister red in the face.

"So, are we…"

"Come Ron, let us young men be entertained while the old men play with each other… Wow that sounds gay now I think about it."

…

"How can you say that!"

Lavender recoiled slightly at the exclamation. Such intense emotion made her jugs swing dangerously and she didn't want to get smacked in the face.

"I never said it out loud. It was just a thought."

"Well, I'm not like that. I just didn't like Ron."

No, not Ron, "But you like Harry," she said with a wolfish grin.

Cheeks pinked, jugs jiggled, "Oh yeah."

"Was he good?"

She nodded, a faraway look slowly developing a silly grin with a lecherous quirk in one corner. The lecherous corner got over ambitious and tried to take over which drew undo attention, promptly shaking the whole thing off.

"I think he broke something in my brain, but in a good way. Does that make sense."

Lavender nodded, "Yeah, he broke me pretty good. I wish he'd do it again."

The thought of such activity set her tail to work. She didn't realize until Patience started giggling. How embarrassing.

"Ladies, we are ready to begin."

The verminous puppet master led them to the ritual circles where a diverse range of forms and faces were already waiting. "So how long does this take?" she wondered aloud.

"About five minutes I think I heard," said Patience.

"Five minutes, huh?"

The other girl nodded.

"I'd have thought it would be longer, but okay; five minutes. Five minutes to change the world."

…

Five minutes was all it took. Five minutes to shake his world. Dumbledore had been in many a duel but not since he was a boy had he felt so outmatched. How had it come to this?

"Getting tired old man?"

His wand trembled in a shaking hand. Breath came in labored wheezing. Most distressing was the hazy edges of his vision; that could not be good. Tired old man; that was it. He'd barely left the castle in five years. Barely used his magic for anything but mundane daily tasks. He was out of shape, out of practice, and out of time.

"Wha'd we miss?"

"Ah, Harry. Right on time." The boy grinned that insufferable grin as he looked down from the now twisted balcony. "Did the Black sisters meet with your satisfaction?"

"Like only three bad girls can," he said. "I think we tired them out though, poor things."

"Harry! No," more lives thrown away.

"Oh, don't get your knickers in a twist, we didn't kill them. I needed trophies for my successful commanders."

"Success should be rewarded," the dark lord agreed.

"They are people," Dumbledore croaked weakly.

"To you maybe. To others they are mere toys, trifles to amuse. I've no doubt Jezebel will love her new Trixie doll. She's so rough on her toys."

It was revolting to hear; such words were never meant to come from that mouth. He was supposed to be the savior of the wizarding world. To hear him now; hear the dark lord laugh so genuinely; it firmed his resolve.

"Truly harry, we have come far, have we not; since that night."

"A long and winding road, now at its end."

The two stared, devil green and vile red. There were no more words.

Voldemort opened with a staggered string of curses, tearing into the already mutilated architecture. Harry leapt from the balcony, landing on all fours as his whole body was swallowed in snarling shadows. His chained blade emerged like a steely scorpion's tail, and he charged.

"Headmaster!"

A sense of relief filled him when Ronald came bounding over while Harry and Voldemort tore apart Malfoy manor.

"Are you alright?"

"I will live," he said, "provided they do not drop the building on us."

The dueling dark lords tore a swath of destruction that turned walls to wreckage and put holes through several floors of ceilings.

Voldemort's impressive repertoire of spells was put to the test by the green-eyed shadow dog and its striking blade tail. The two moved so quickly it was difficult keeping up.

Voldemort apparated to stay ahead of his foe; Harry was just inhumanly fast, and strong. Bits of wall, floor and ceiling made makeshift shields and projectiles which he tore from the building and flung at his enemy with reckless abandon.

"What do we do?"

"Be patient Mr. Weasley and wait for our chance."

It was impossible for the fight to go indefinitely; statistically speaking. Sooner or later someone would falter, slip, make a mistake. The other would capitalize, and thus would it end.

Statistics were not on Tom Riddle's side. It was a split second; a split second too late he apparated. Had he been that split second faster, the flying debris would have missed; he'd have stuck the landing, countered, and the fight would have carried on; if.

The small projectile had a disproportionately large effect, throwing him off course and ultimately into, then through, one of the last walls still standing. By some miracle, the floor above his battered body did not collapse on top of him.

By the work of one chained blade, that was corrected.

Ron and Dumbledore shielded themselves from the assault of debris and dust. When it cleared, Harry stood atop the heap, looking down at Voldemort.

His body was crushed and broken; his wand in similar straits. It was over, or so they thought, but for the sound of a pained, wheezing laugh.

"Well done, Ha—Harry. Most impressive."

"It's all thanks to you."

"This isn't the end, you know. I will return. Death, has no hold over me."

Harry appeared unconcerned. Not believing, or simply not caring. "There are worse fates than death. Perhaps one day you will see that. But in the meantime. Goodbye Tom Riddle."

The blade flashed out, the wreckage shifted, and a spectral figure flew into the air. It hovered briefly, considering, then went wailing into the cold dark night.

"And that is that," said Harry, dusting his hands and allowing the chained blade to vanish back up his sleeve.

"Now, Mr. Weasley," said Dumbledore, rising slowly. "You know what to do."

Navigating the mangled hall, Dumbledore made his way to the base of the pile where Harry stood, "Mr. Potter!"

"Hmm? You still here? I'd have thought you'd be gone by now."

"There is still one thing yet to be done tonight Harry."

"Did we forget to kill someone?"

The cocksure grin never left his face, not even when Dumbledore leveled his wand. "Not forgot, Mr. Potter."

"What's this? A double-cross. Oh, the tragic irony."

Chalking his flippancy up to his usual cheek, "Now Mr. Weasley!"

There was a brief pause, then pain, spearing pain in the back of his shoulder. His wand flew from his hand and he fell to the floor in agony.

"Oo, that looks painful. Well done Coil. You too Ron."

"Mr. Wu—Weasley. How…" but the answer was self-evident, as clear as the white rope like creature coming out his chest.

"Yes, Ron hasn't really been himself for a while now. His own fault of course," said Harry conversationally.

"You—you can't. I…"

"Now don't start blubbering. You brought this on yourself."

Much as he hated to admit it, "Bringing you back was a mistake."

"Not the first you made with me. No; not the first by a long shot… but that's in the past. I am much looking forward to the future. Promises to be quite the time."

"And what do you plan to do?"

"His smile turned devilish and suddenly the pain in his shoulder seemed distant to the pain in his chest. "Ron, be a good chap and knock down that wall."

The outer wall crumbled, barely standing already, and in the distance, Dumbledore perceived a great beam of light reaching into the heavens.

"What is it."

"A stairway of sorts. Infernum is full of them. They connect the various levels to each other. There are two others that should be up by now as well."

Realization struck like a runaway clown car and Dumbledore stared at Harry, twiddling his fallen wand. "No."

"Oh yes," he said. "Even as we speak, my legions prepare. They are already on the march."

"How could you? How could you!"

"Patience and practice. I have had over a hundred years to work on it."

A hundred years? "What?"

"Time moves differently in Infernum. Ten years to you was just over a hundred to me. An entire century of battle and conquest. Turns out I have a knack for it. Now I bring that knack home, thanks to you."

"You can't!"

"Sure I can, and I will. But you will not be here to see it," he said, leveling the wand. "Been a while since I used one of these, but I recall a spell I think appropriate for the occasion. I think you'll appreciate the irony; you do consider the both of us, unforgivable."

"NO! Harry, please, don't."

"Avada Kedavra."


	30. Chapter 30

Grimdark  
Chapter 30 – Authorized Rebellion

…

Tyrants came and tyrants went, unless they happened to be the Black chained devil king. Few were still alive that remembered a time when the world was not his. That changed today.

"Hurry, he'll be there soon."

The group scurried along the dark corridors behind their nervous guide.

"You're sure he'll be there Hermione?"

"Yes, I'm sure, now will you hurry. There isn't much time."

The minor librarian from the tower of knowledge had risked much in their endeavor. It was understandable she was a bit testy.

"I see a light," someone said.

The doorway loomed before them. Soon, very soon, the world would be changed for the better.

"Be quiet everyone. We don't want them to hear us."

They approached as stealthily as a group of twenty could. Hermione poked her head through quickly before turning back to the group. Mouth opened was slammed shut when she was yanked through the doorway by a glinting chain with a blade at the end.

"HERMIONE!"

As one the group surged into the light. Their feet thundered on the grated floor so loud none of them heard the door slide shut behind them.

High above, Hermione floated, bound in chains that led back to a man dressed in black and a self-satisfied smirk. "Afternoon."

"Tyrant!"

"I've been called that," he chuckled.

"Release her you fiend."

"Why?"

Hermione squirmed in the grip of the chain. The noises she made while doing this were positively indecent. More than a few couldn't help but see his point. The leader was not one of them.

"Your rule ends today monster. Everyone, together!"

A collection of wands and other odd casting devices were brought out and pointed his direction. A powerful glow fed into the gold ring in the leader's hand till it could hold no more; firing a furious rainbow at the black clad man who vanished behind the spectrum of light and destruction.

The spell cut off when the leader fell to his knees, utterly spent. He could feel his magic was almost entirely drained, but they'd done it. They'd won.

He looked up to see what wonder they had wrought, only to shit his pants at the sight he beheld. The man in black, whole and unharmed, holding a sparkling crystal pendant and looking very pleased.

"But, how?" the spell had worked. They'd done everything right.

"It's not so hard when you understand the spell; what it does and how to contain the particular energy wavelength. Thanks for charging this up by the way."

No! They'd been so close. "We, we can still stop you."

"I doubt that."

His legs refused to obey, and his sphincter had already surrendered but he refused to give up. "Guys! Help me… guys?"

Nineteen bodies lay groaning behind him. If he was in bad shape, they were barely even alive.

"Funny thing about chain powering that spell. It takes everything from each successive source till its fully charged or runs out of sources to pull from. That's why it's restricted."

They'd thought it was because he feared it. That's what they'd been told by…

"How ya doin up there Hermione?"

"You know, it's really not my thing," she said, "but you could squeeze a little tiiiiii—oh yeah, that's it," she wheezed with ecstatic bliss.

"It can't be. It can't be."

"If I had a succubus for every time I heard that."

Rage rose, pushing momentarily through his exhaustion, "You think you've won? There will be others. We won't stop till you are nothing but a forgotten memory."

The devil smiled, "You see, that conviction right there is why I authorized your rebellion."

"Wha—what?"

"Oh yes. I've been at this for more than three hundred years now. Yours is not the first rebellion I've squashed. You're not even in the first hundred."

"Wha—no! I don't believe you!"

"It was so easy too. You weren't discreet, though I'm sure you thought you were. But be honest, didn't it ever feel a little too easy, like things were just falling into place a little too perfectly."

"No… no…"

The devil shrugged, "It doesn't matter I suppose. We're done here. Delilah! The rod."

A tall red-skinned succubus strutted into view as the chain bound librarian was released, to her vocal disappointment.

"Don't pout darling, you can be tied in chains anytime you like," said the succubus.

"Why not now?"

"Because you can't perform the empowerment ritual when you're all tied up" he said, offering her the rod.

"Really!"

"You've earned it," he chuckled.

Excitedly she snatched the rod and dashed to the edge of the ledge overlooking the arena.

"Hermione! What are you doing?"

"Hush!" she snapped, clearing her throat and beginning to chant.

The wind rose and powerful energies swirled around them; drawing, sucking, draining their life to feed the ritual. It was the insult on top of the injury. Not only had they failed, but their lives would now be used to strengthen the enemy.

…

The ritual concluded with a fading shimmer and the two of them watched as Hermione turned, eyes aglow, "How do you feel?"

"I feel—I, feel—I feel like I could read all of War and Peace in one sitting!"

The rod twirled through air abandoned as she went to, apparently, read War and Peace. "Nice to see some things never change," said Harry, effortlessly catching the rod on its descent.

"Not exactly what I was hoping for," the succubus pouted.

"Oh really?"

"Is it too much to ask for a little attention once in a while. I swear, she loves those musty old books more than she does me."

"Overdramatic much?"

"Noooooo," she whined, which he hated; the whining that is. Made him want to punish her.

He looked at the rod in his hand, then the pouting succubus, "Turn around and bend over."

Behind him he heard the squelch of tentacles coming up from below to clear out the arena as the magic rod squelched into the squealing succubus. All was as it should be. His rule was absolute and unchallenged, unless he wished it otherwise.

Ninety percent of all the plots to overthrow him were started on his authorization; the other ten being started by overachievers hoping to impress him. When all was said and done, it came back to him, as it should.

"The world is mine."

"Oh, yeesssh master. All youeeeeee!"

… **Final words**

A big thanks to all who followed my little fic this year. By numbers it the best NaNoWriMo I've had since starting this.

But let's not look back, instead forward to the future. The current arc of Hogwarts a History (year 2 compendium) will be concluded Wednesday's in December. And this following year promises to be even more fun.

Monday's shall become Sailor Moondays as we bring Sailor Moon to Hogwarts, the moon has never been so bushy. Wednesdays will continue as Harry Humpdays, with a little story I'm calling Heroes of Magic and Might. For all those who've enjoyed Harry Potter D&D, or my Powers that be trio, this will probably be to your tastes. And Fridays are going to get really interesting, Flip Flop Fridays, and alternating schedule, one week fanfiction, the next week original fiction on my account over on our sister site, FictionPress.

Hoping all your readers out there will check it out. There's a link on my author page that will take you to my FictionPress page. I'm planning to put up my first original piece on Christmas eve.

So, until then, thank you all again for reading along, and I hope to see you all in that new present we philosophically refer to as the future.


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